To Those Who Wait
by hiyabucky
Summary: Isabel Barnes spends her Brooklyn days nursing patients and following the mischievous likes of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. Their life turns upside down when Bucky is drafted for war and Steve joins the Project Rebirth experiment, leaving Isabel with the decision to either stay behind or follow "Captain America" onto the front lines of war. [Steve/OC]. Rated M for violent themes.
1. Prologue

**A/N** : Hello everyone! I've been reading and writing fanfiction for a long time but this is the first time I've felt confident enough to post. This story and its characters have been with me since I saw Avengers: Age of Ultron way back in 2015. Oh how times have changed since then, but I've managed to plod away at this story ever since. Thank you to anyone who reads. Reviews and follows are always welcome, and as always, enjoy :)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Marvel Comics Universe. I do not claim ownership of the characters of the world I am borrowing. The only character I own is my OC. The story and situation is a work of my imagination and is not ascribed to be official story canon. The work is intended for entertainment outside the official Marvel Cinematic and Comic Universes.

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **September 13** **th** **, 1945**

Peaceful bird song sounds in the trees above, breaking the gloomy silence that taints Green-Wood cemetery. The discolored leaves flap slightly in the autumn breeze and cast long shadows across the grounds as day slowly transitions into night, the days getting shorter as each day passes and New York is thrust toward another harsh winter.

In the cemetery, the sounds of the bustling world outside are non-existent. It's steadfast and tranquil, an area of suspended time undisrupted by reality and a place of stored memories that simultaneously serves as a cruel reminder of the consequences of conflict and life. An odd place of both celebration and mourning for those taken too soon. Flowers have been left before each grave, some half-heartedly thrown on the grass and others strategically placed in decorated ceramic vases. Upturned mounds of dark soil litter the grounds, hiding the unfortunate casualties of war.

At a loss for how to behave and how to feel, women dally before the graves of their fallen sweethearts, a bouquet in one hand and their fella's dog tags in the other. Their once pristine appearances are stained by dark mascara tear trails and unkempt curls, an absence of care that settled in as soon as they received that fateful telegram.

One young woman kneels at the top of a grave, staring blankly at the grey headstone before her. It's rather plain – an engraved grey stone, rounded on the top, sitting in a bed of grass and flowers. The woman is lost in her memories, a thousand-yard stare hardening her once soft facial features. She holds on tightly to a bouquet of roses she purchased from the corner store, turning her knuckles white.

Reaching out a shaking hand, the girl trails her fingers over the two engraved names.

"Sergeant James B Barnes, March 1917 – February 1945. Captain Steven G Rogers, July 1918 – February 1945. Devoted friends 'til the end of the line," it reads, and her voice trembles as she whispers it aloud.

She sits silently for what feels like hours. Her head begins to spin, just as it does sometimes, a tangled thread of thoughts. It's when her vision seems to blur black around the edges and her stare turns distant, as if she is seeing past what lies in front of her, that the panic starts. The images of a flashback fill her mind before she can stop them – blood all over the beautiful grass and a barrage of gunfire overhead, mud and water everywhere in the tight confined space that's closing in on her, restricting her from following the group of men before her. A flash of two familiar men falling and disappearing into a stark white nothing–

With a strangled cry, the bouquet in her hands crinkles under her crushing grip, the petals bending misshapenly and the stems snapping. It hits her suddenly as she sits before the grave, like a sack of bricks, that the two most important figures in her life have left her behind within a matter of weeks of each other. Her brother is lost somewhere in the harsh ravines of Europe, whilst the great Captain America has crashed HYDRA's plane somewhere in the Arctic Ocean. She allows herself to cry, burying her face in her hands, holding tightly to the poor bouquet. Her cheeks soak with salty tears, her shoulders racking with sobs that had been held in for weeks prior.

A wail across the cemetery mingles with her own sobs and jolts her from her trance. On instinct, she searches for a threat, but her eyes only fall on the wailing blonde woman five gravesites down from her who is uselessly dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

She turns away quickly, not wanting to stare at the grieving blonde, and sighs deeply, her whole body sagging as if she is trying to sink into the ground. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers to Steve and Bucky. Stray tears roll down her cheeks and she roughly wipes at them, trying to stay composed. "It happens sometimes, especially now that I'm home. I'm sure you both know."

Absentmindedly, she attempts to straighten the ruined bouquet. She gently snaps the stems straight again and flattens out the bent petals, returning the bouquet to some sense of its former beauty. She lays them down in front of the headstone before she can damage them anymore, her hands shaking. She breathes in and out – slowly, steadying – and wipes another bead of a tear from her cheek.

"And…" She pauses, taking a second to gulp and just breathe. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't save you. But I hope you are okay, wherever you are. I hope you're together. Look after each other."

Behind her, she hears the clicking of heels as the wailing woman escapes the cemetery, her sobs growing fainter the further away she gets. When she finally gathers the energy, she thinks she might follow by example, and stands on shaky legs. Hardly caring what she looks like, but knowing it would resemble someone dragged through the bushes, she decides she doesn't want to give anyone a fright. She runs a hand quickly over her limp, brown hair, and straightens her skirt.

"I miss you both so much, and I love you even more," her voice wavers. She places a kiss to her fingertips before pressing them against the cool headstone, between the two soldier's names.

Then, she forces herself to turn away.

" _Far beyond this world of chances,_

 _Far beyond this world of care:_

 _We shall find our missing loved ones,_

 _In our father's mansion fair."_


	2. Chapter 1

**1.**

 **Brooklyn,** **New York**

 **September 1** **st** **, 1939**

Though the American press haven't always publicised the goings-on around the world, Isabel Barnes remembers reading reports about violence against European-Jews in the papers as early as 1933, when she was in middle school. Stories of Jews being taken away on trains and never seen again floated throughout the community, and Isabel couldn't help but spike with fear at the very mention of it. Not that the Americans really did much about it, because they were in _America_. It wasn't an issue in the country, and it felt a world away. It was a problem, but everyone else had their own problems too.

One freezing day in early January 1939, when the nurse who was training Isabel was bundled up in a thick coat even within the hospital walls, Isabel tended to an old Italian man with beady eyes and a fractured wrist from a fall in his bathroom. He told her of the headline story from that morning's papers, the girl's eyes widening, her blood boiling and her heart plummeting.

"I didn't mean to scare you, dear," he added in thick-accented English.

"No, it's okay," she reassured him, plastering on a smile. She helped her patient to the discharge counter and helped him file the paperwork as his writing hand was bundled in a thick cast. He managed to sign his name with his left hand before saying goodbye, making his way from the ward. Isabel went about her daily routine at a bark from her instructor, but the thoughts never left her mind.

As she passed a newspaper stand that evening on her way home from her shift, she stopped on the sidewalk to read the front cover of the day's paper, the crowd of pedestrians diverting around her unhappily.

The man had already told her what the article contained, so Isabel scanned the report on Adolf Hitler's more than two-hour speech, which mostly recounted the glorious history of the Nazi party. She felt a lump rise in her throat as she read the transcript of his threat toward the Jews if Germany was dragged into another world war:

" _Today I will once more be a prophet: If the international Jewish financiers in and outside Europe should succeed in plunging the nations once more into a world war, then the result will not be the Bolshevization of the earth, and thus the victory of Jewry, but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe!"_

Isabel felt frozen as she read and re-read the quote, letting its full extent sink in properly.

"Hey!" A male voice bellowed, jolting her out of her frozen terror. "You gotta pay to read, lady."

Isabel threw newspaper down quickly, averting her eyes from the angry stall owner as she rushed past him and continued on her way home, eventually recognizing the building fronts typical of the Stuyvesant suburb of Brooklyn where her family's home was located.

When she'd walked into her family's apartment, she'd joined them at the dinner table, a vegetable stew between them. A copy of the paper was splayed open on the kitchen counter, wrinkled and creased from being read multiple times by the family members. The air felt heavy around the family, settling as a dead weight on their shoulders as they ate the rather flavorless stew. No one said a word of what had been reported, but Isabel could see the pain in her parent's eyes.

Nothing was said of that day. Whilst Isabel had heard the frantic cries and prayers of her parents late at night, neither of them had sat down to discuss the events overseas with their children, and so the matter was dropped. All seemed to have possibly blown over, and so life resumed some normality, though thoughts plagued everyone that what was happening in Europe was much more dangerous than anticipated.

* * *

On September third, a warm Sunday in fall, the Barnes' family sit in the living room listening to their usual station on the radio, George and Winifred dancing around the kitchen in a foxtrot style that includes quite a lot of stepping on each other's feet, running into the table by accident, and a whole lot of rambunctious laughter. Isabel sits reading a nursing textbook, distracted by watching with amusement as her parents waltz around each other.

Isabel and Bucky's mother, Winifryd Fridman, had come to America as a nineteen-year-old Russian-Jew seeking freedom from the anti-Jewish laws that had spread like wildfire across Europe. She'd spoken some English at the time, and had brought her tailoring skills with her, securing a job in a dress shop in Williamsburg to make ends meet. That was where she met George Barnes, a novice investor on Wall Street with a humble place in Long Island thanks to a family inheritance. Two years later they were married, and her mother took the Barnes name, as well as developing a preference for "Winifred", the English form of her Russian name.

Winifred never vowed to forget her Jewish beliefs, but didn't make it an active part of her life either. She didn't hide it, but rather de-emphasized it to the point where it was nearly non-existent, and so it wasn't passed onto her children. The idea of Jewish people being persecuted was terrifying enough to convert an entire family. Winifred was terrified of her children's heritage being discovered, and them being punished for it. She wanted them to fit into American society, wanted them to be "American" and not the children of immigrants. There was safety in blending in, and if that meant them not learning part of their heritage, then so be it. George Barnes was raised Catholic, and so the family went to Church on special occasions and celebrated Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving. In turn, the children knew very little about the Jewish religion, besides a vague understanding of its meaning and maybe a few prayers. They weren't Catholic, and they weren't Jewish either. They were in between religions, knowing only a small amount about each, learnt from their family, school and friends.

Rather than dwelling on this, religion just didn't play a large role in the family's lives. Instead, they concentrated on music, art, books, and culture. All of the Barnes children could play the piano (or were in the process of learning, like the twins), had a mountain of their favorite books piled around their bedrooms, and knew how to dance the foxtrot and lindy-hop.

When George had been drafted into the Great War in 1917, he left behind his wife and their firstborn, James, who at the time was only a newborn. Upon George's return, he threw himself into work and became a successful business man who could provide for his growing family of four after Isabel's arrival a few years later. That was until the stock market crash of October 1929. His investing business was wiped out entirely and the family had headed for bankruptcy. After selling the family home and many of their possessions, they'd moved to a cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Isabel can't remember much of her first home. It seems she had spent most of her life in the city, in the apartment where they all crowd into now. There are memories of their past life that linger in their current home, in that their furniture is upmarket, moved from their Long Island home, but seems out of place in the rundown apartment. The walls and ceiling of the home are cracked and water stained, in need of painting, the wooden floorboards needing desperately to be re-stained. The apartment only has two bedrooms and one bathroom, and so the Barnes parents sleep on a mattress in the corner of the living room, hidden from sight by one of the sofas, their wardrobes stuffed into an ottoman-like box near the head of the bed and important clothing items hung up in the children's wardrobes.

Still, while the apartment may have been run down and small, it was theirs and it was home. Much of their lives have been spent within these walls, reading books and listening to music and making memories together as a family. The living room is where the rickety piano sits in the corner, the crooning melodies coming from it on a daily base. The bookshelves overflow with novels and textbooks, six lifetimes of reading and knowledge on display. In the far corner, some of Winifred's tailoring equipment sits, a sewing machine permanently docked on a small table for mending clothing and making more. The living room floor producing the sounds of feet stepping along it, the place where Bucky and Isabel had practised their dancing so that Bucky could woo the girls at the dance halls and so that Isabel, according to Bucky, could dance with and impress the older boys, not that that had ever been done.

So far, most of Isabel's life in Brooklyn had mainly centred around going to school, both regular school and nursing school, and following Bucky around, especially after he made friends with Steve Rogers. Bucky helped the sickly-looking kid out of the dumpster behind the school when he was ten and Steve was nine, and they've been following much the same process ever since. Truthfully, they were destined to be friends. They're both nice without trying to be, real gentleman who will make their lucky ladies extremely happy one day. Bucky is sensible with his head screwed on tight but with a mountain of emotions within him that he struggles but manages to maintain. Steve is passionately hot headed and throws himself into fights if it is for a good cause, fights that Bucky fishes him out of. Bucky's also a ladies' man, a terrible flirt, and luckily Steve's rather unfortunate ability to repel women helps to calm Bucky down. It's a delicate balance that Isabel doesn't think could be purposefully recreated in any other pairing.

Isabel and Bucky had gotten jobs as soon as they were finished their schooling and old enough to contribute to the family's bills. Bucky was lucky enough that George Barnes still had many contacts throughout the city despite losing his job, and Bucky was also strong, young and polite – he could talk his way around anything, including a job interview. Isabel, on the other hand, was fortunate enough that nurses were in demand, mainly due to the threat of a second World War and the Depression. Sarah Rogers, Steve's mother, also practices as a nurse and secured her a training position as soon as she was of age. Isabel's training was now nearing completion, and in less than a month she would be a qualified nurse.

Suddenly, the upbeat jazz music stops, breaking Isabel out of her thoughtful reverie. Robbie, the second youngest of the Barnes clan, only beaten by Becca who came two minutes later, gets up and experimentally bangs the radio box to see if it's broken. A broadcast cuts through the silence, causing dread to settle in the pit of everyone's stomachs.

" _Emergency news just in from Great Britain. At 11.15 this morning, Prime Minister Chamberlain broadcast to the nation the following statement announcing that a state of war now exists between Britain and Germany."_

The voice then changes to that of British Prime Minister Chamberlain, his British accent harsh compared to the American broadcaster before him. The family all slowly take a seat on the sofas to listen, their knees threatening to give way beneath them.

" _This morning, the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock saying that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us._ _I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different that I could have done and that would have been more successful. Up to the very last it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between Germany and Poland, but Hitler would not have it…"_

At the mention of Hitler, Winifred stands and walks into the kitchen to cry away from young prying eyes, hiding her face from her children. The broadcast continues in the background, informing them of the attempts to peacefully diffuse the situation.

" _His action shows convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will. In turn, he can only be stopped by equal forces. We and France are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of Poland, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on her people. We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace in a situation in which no word given by Germany's ruler could be trusted and no people or country could feel themselves safe. It has become intolerable._

 _And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage. At such a moment as this the assurances of support that we have received from the Empire are a source of profound encouragement to us. The Government have made plans under which it will be possible to carry on the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain that may be ahead. But these plans need your help. You may be taking your part in the fighting services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of Civil Defence. If so you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you have received. You may be engaged in work essential to the prosecution of war for the maintenance of the life of the people - in factories, in transport, in public utility concerns, or in the supply of other necessaries of life. If so, it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs. Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail."_

The broadcast crackles to a stop, and the music from before rings out again, a terribly upbeat contrast, and no one makes a move. Everyone is silent, the words from the British Prime Minister repeating over and over. _The right will prevail. Against brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution, the right will prevail. But will it?_ Isabel couldn't help but think.

"Becca, Robbie, I think it's time for bed," George Barnes says, his authoritative voice cutting through the silence in the cramped living room. Leaving no room for argument, the two eight-year-olds get up and make for their respective rooms.

Isabel waits only two minutes before her sister's small head pops back out of the doorway. "Issy, can you please read me a story?"

Isabel looks to her father, who nods for her to go, that the conversation will begin when she returns. Isabel allows Becca to pull her to their shared bedroom, settling on Becca's rickety child-sized bed beside each other. Becca has a copy of "The Little Engine That Could" between them, and Isabel reads slowly, allowing Becca to read along despite both of them knowing the book back to front. Isabel savors these ten minutes of calm, when Becca's childish naivety soaks into her system and calms her immensely, the stress of the previous broadcast melting away momentarily.

Until, of course, Becca asks what it had all meant. "I'm scared, Issy."

"I know. Everyone is scared, baby."

"The man on the broadcast – I didn't understand, what was he saying?"

"He was saying that there are bad people in the world and they're doing bad things. He's asking all the good people to come forward and help him stop them," Isabel replies carefully, stroking Becca's dark hair.

"Who are going?" Becca asks, her storm grey eyes wide and terrified.

"Right now, only the French and the British."

"Will we have to fight?"

"I don't know, honey. We'll just have to wait and pray that we don't, okay? Try not to think about it."

Isabel tucks Becca in, ensures she's warm enough, kisses her sister's forehead goodnight and closes the bedroom door behind her. She peeks her head into her brothers' shared room, saying goodnight to Robert who is already buried beneath a pile of thin, holey blankets. He doesn't seem as worried as his sister, for which Isabel is grateful. They're both much too young to worry about such things.

Isabel slowly makes her way back to the lounge, hearing her parents' frightened whispers from the hallway. They've moved from the lounge to the kitchen area, sitting around the wobbling kitchen table. She enters the kitchen quietly and takes a seat at the table beside her older brother, who, despite showering and changing clothes, is still covered in dirt and oil from working a weekend at the dockyards.

"Nothing will come of it, dear," their father is saying, placing steady hands on his wife's shoulders. "There will be no war. It will last a few days at most before England or America puts a stop to it. It will be dissolved. Hitler will back down when he sees how outnumbered he and his men are. We will all be safe."

Their mother sighs, looking unconvinced and defeated, and sits heavily opposite her eldest children. "What if there is a war?" Winifred asks, the Russian accent still heavy on her tongue, looking worriedly at her oldest child. "Bucky is of age. He will be called up to fight."

Bucky shifts uncomfortably at this thought, looking to their father for reassurance that would not be the case. George walks around the table to stand behind Bucky, putting comforting hands on the boy's shoulders.

"The world has suffered through an economic depression for the last ten years, and that was only a decade after another world war. No one has enough money to fund a war effort, and even if they do, I doubt we will be involved," George responds calmly, always the voice of reason.

"And the Jewish people being taken?" Winifred asks.

"It's being more publicised now. I'm sure it will be stopped, Mama," Bucky answers, reaching across the table to take his mother's hand. She smiles at him and pats the top of his hand, holding it in her own.

A strained silence settles around the four. Somewhere on the distant streets, the wailing of a passing siren can be heard. George clears his throat, cutting through the quietness.

"Now that we've reassured each other, I don't want to hear any more talk about this," he decides, throwing the newspaper in the trash can to enhance his point. "Understood?"

There is a chorus of affirmatives, and Isabel and Bucky stand from the table, Isabel kissing her mother and father's cheeks on the way out. The siblings walk down the short hallway, the sounds of their parents' talking once again filling the room behind them.

Isabel pauses by the door to her and Becca's room. She turns to Bucky, who has just reached his own door further down the hall, and has a hand on the doorknob to close it behind him. "What do you think of it all?" She asks quietly, careful not to let her father hear.

Bucky turns to his sister, his eyebrows drawn in deep thought. "I'm not sure."

* * *

A/N: So here is the first full chapter and an introduction to the Barnes family.

I've seen quite a few posts on Tumblr regarding the head cannon of Bucky and his family being Jewish, and I just loved the idea so I decided to use it. Admittedly, my knowledge of Judaism is severely limited, which is a shame, so anything I do mention in this story will be researched, but I can't guarantee it's accuracy. If I get anything incorrect, please feel free to tell me and I will make the changes accordingly.

Since I love history, I'm trying to incorporate the historical events into the plot and see how these events influence the characters. Obviously, the Barnes family having a connection to the Jewish religion will have an effect on them throughout the entirety of this story, and while they do hide their origins, it will likely come up again. The dialogue from Adolf Hitler's speech and the British Prime Minister's broadcast are taken directly from their transcripts. I suggest checking them out if you want to learn more. I would have provided the link but this site doesn't allow it.

Also, if anyone knows the story Isabel reads to Becca, _The Little Engine That Could_ , you'll see the significance of it when compared to Steve. The basic plot is that a small steam engine agrees to the task of pulling a heavy load over a high mountain, and with determination and courage, succeeds in the seemingly impossible feat. The children's book was first published in 1930, and a Disney version was published in 1976. There have also been multiple films made. Just a little Easter Egg for anyone that caught it.

I hope you liked the chapter, reviews are always welcome! :)


	3. Chapter 2

**2.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **December 7** **th** **, 1941**

On the day of the attack on Pearl Harbour, the two childhood friends Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes argue, maybe for the first time ever.

They're sitting in one of Steve's art classes, where Steve is a loyal and paying student who works studiously and Bucky only goes along as company because the girls like having him to talk to and sometimes he poses as a life model for them to study. The whole class is silently painting the bowl of fruit on the table in front of them, except for Bucky and a girl called Anna giggling and whispering in the back corner, when the serenity is interrupted by a student poking their head into the room and yelling something about the Japanese, Pearl Harbour, and a war. Everyone looks at each other, confused, before squashing into the corner of the room around the teacher's desk which has a radio perched on top of it.

They all crowd around and strain their ears to listen, the broadcaster's voice monotonous. Thanks to Steve's terrible hearing, he can't hear a thing over the hushed whispers with the radio being so far away, so Bucky repeats the words to him, heavy and thick as they leave his tongue.

 _Pearl Harbour_. Pearl Harbour has just been bombed by the Japanese, the ships sunk and the planes shot right out of the sky. They still don't know how many people have been killed and injured, and Bucky can't remember the estimated number anyway, but it's a _lot._ He has no doubt, instantly, that the United States will be going to war after the attack. He stares straight ahead, dumbfounded, his translation to Steve trailing off.

As soon as the broadcast ends, the class and every other class in the building goes up in uproar. Some people sit down, feeling light headed. People are crying and screaming and making patriotic comments, declaring their love and prayers for their country. Steve is silent, perched upon a stool in deep thought, a crease between his brows. Bucky watches him carefully for a moment, thinking maybe he imagined the broadcast by the way Steve is acting, when suddenly Steve leaves his spot, moving faster than Bucky has ever seen him. He's out the door before Bucky can even contemplate where he might be going. It takes him a second, but his brain eventually catches up. Bucky hurriedly gathers up Steve's abandoned art supplies, shoving them into his backpack, and then he's running along the slippery, icy pavement after Steve, who is somehow keeping a few steps ahead of him even though he's only walking.

He yells out to Steve, "Where are you going?"

Steve instantly replies, "I'm going to enlist," without even turning around to look at his friend.

Bucky can't even fathom why Steve wants to enlist in the first place, considering how the first war took Joseph Rogers from the world and ruined George Barnes. He guesses that his friend's overwhelming sense of freedom and justice is clouding his logical thoughts, which is not exactly a new occurrence. And, although he'll never admit it aloud, the prospect of the war frightens Bucky. It's only been a possibility for maybe ten minutes, but Bucky's been thinking about the possibility of having to fight for years now, and it's always been a terrifying thought. Bucky is stunned into silence. They haven't even had time to think about it, really. He doesn't understand why all this doesn't deter his friend as well.

"You haven't even given them a chance to actually declare war," Bucky tells Steve, finally catching up and pacing himself to match Steve's thunderous steps.

"I'm still going to war," Steve says stubbornly.

"The _United States_ is going to war. Maybe," Bucky corrects, making the distinction clear.

"And we aren't a part of the United States?" Steve asks. "It's our right and our responsibility."

Bucky sighs, running a hand over his face. "Yes, it is our right. But I don't think this is our war to fight. It's got nothing to do with us. At least, it didn't until today." Steve ignores Bucky, continuing to walk with determination toward Brooklyn's permanent Army recruitment centre. "War isn't a back alley, Steve. It's bloody, and gory, and deadly," Bucky tries to reason. "Not many people come home from war, and even when they do, they're never the same. I don't even understand why you want to enlist considering what the Great War did to both our fathers."

"I'll go anyway, despite everything. This is what I need to do," Steve tells him determinedly. "You of all people should be going," Steve mumbles under his breath, thinking Bucky hadn't heard. But Bucky hears, turning an angry glare toward Steve.

"Why me of all people?"

"Because you're athletic and strong."

Bucky laughs mockingly, though he fails to see the humour. "What's that got to do with it?"

Steve blows out an angry breath. "I'd be lucky to do the hundred-metre sprint in two minutes and I want to do my bit, why shouldn't you?"

"The war ain't about how fast you can run. Whether you can run like a leopard in the jungle or whether you can't run at all doesn't matter. It's about strategy. It's about wielding weapons. It's whether you can kill or be killed."

"You don't know the half of it," Steve snaps uncharacteristically, clicking his tongue at Bucky. "You know what you're being? A coward!"

Bucky feels his blood boil, fixing a heavy glare on Steve. He isn't a coward for wanting to protect himself and his family. "There's only one reason I haven't knocked you down, Steve, and that's because I don't feel like carrying you all the way back to your apartment. Now shut it and don't open your trap about the war again!" Bucky snaps right back.

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry for calling you a coward," he says after a few minutes, having the sense to look guilty. Still, Steve refuses to back down, no matter how much he's threatened. "But doesn't it all make you angry? What they've done today, and what they've been doing over there for years?"

"Of course, it does," Bucky cries. "It makes my blood boil! I may not practise, but I feel… connected to those people over there. And I do feel a certain obligation to go and fight for my country. But–," Bucky stops and doesn't continue, his throat getting all choked up by his words."I got a lot to fight for at home, too. I've got a family, and you, and a job. I don't know if I can just drop it so quickly. Especially not just before Christmas. God, Steve. _Please_ don't do this just before Christmas. Just wait. Have one last Christmas with our families. Then, we'll decide."

Steve looks stubborn and like he wants to either fight Bucky on the point or punch him in the face or something, but suddenly his face softens and he nods in agreement. "Okay, Buck. I'll wait."

Bucky can't even describe the feeling of relief that rushes over him like a tidal wave. _For now_ , he tells himself.

Christmas Day rolls around worryingly quick, almost as if it knew that Steve had made a promise to wait until after it passed and had hurried itself to appear. The days grow ever colder, the nights longer, and the snow begins to fall more regularly. In turn, Steve gets sicker, his lungs unable to fight the cold weather, and he spends much of December confined to his apartment or his bed.

* * *

On Christmas Day, the Barnes family is awakened by the rambunctious laughter of the twins as they cheer about the presents Santa Clause has left them. Their excitement only escalates when they race each other out to the sickly-looking Christmas tree in the living room, where most of the presents beneath belong to them.

Isabel is delighted with her presents – a brand new copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ from Bucky and a simple navy-blue winter dress from her parents, which Winifred made for her by hand. Bucky himself receives a Glen Miller record from Isabel, and a new pair of slacks. Bucky and Isabel joined their money to buy a new quality dinner set for their parents to replace the chipped and broken set the family has been using since before Isabel was born, which George and Winifred are incredibly appreciative and start packing away in the cupboards immediately. In the corner of the room, Becca and Robbie argue for a while over Becca's dolls and Robbie's toy car, eventually managing to coordinate their fantasy stories in an epic tale where the car repeatedly runs the doll over, much to Winifred's chagrin.

Christmas Day passes relatively slowly. After opening their presents at an ungodly hour, they all dress in their nicest Sunday clothes and head to church. They all know Winifred doesn't believe that sort of thing, but it's also part of an act to fit in, so she follows along with her husband and children. They find Steve and Sarah standing out the front, dressed in their own Sunday-best, Steve's hair gelled to perfection without a stray hair in sight. After greeting each other and wishing a round of "Merry Christmas" they all go in together, filing down the middle aisle and passing familiar faces from the neighborhood. Sarah and Winifred lead the pack to a row, talking adamantly about how they like to cook their respective Christmas meals in preparation for dinner later that evening.

Sarah and Winifred continue their gossiping as the ceremony starts up, George sitting beside his wife looking extremely bored. Isabel sits between Bucky and Steve, their shoulders pressed together so they can fit on the shorter side pew. The sermon starts up once everyone is settled, the priest's booming Irish accent filling the church hall. After a few minutes, Becca gets up from her middle seat in boredom and situates herself on Bucky's knee so that he can quietly keep her entertained and help her fiddle with the hair of her doll, braiding it and unbraiding it continuously.

After the ceremony, the two families go their separate ways momentarily as Sarah and Steve will be rejoining the Barnes' for dinner at their apartment, which is slightly larger to host a bigger group. Generally, the families don't come together for Christmas, despite knowing each other for so many years, but the outbreak of war seems to bring everyone together for one last hoorah.

While the girls are readying the Christmas dinner, Bucky and Robbie busy themselves decorating the apartment with the little decorations they have, according to Winifred's instructions. The Barnes' mainly celebrate Christmas for George and the children, so they have a tiny Christmas tree decorated in the corner of the living room and little Santa dolls placed around, as well as five stockings hung along the fireplace, one for each of the Barnes' children and an extra for Steve. On the coffee table in the living room sits the menorah, one of the only signs in the household of the family's Jewish heritage. The candelabrum with nine branches and candles, one placed higher than the others, was lit each night by Winifred from December fifteenth to twenty-second, a candle per night, with all eight candles lit together on the final night of the holiday. It is the only reminder left of Hanukkah, sitting with melted candles that are only remaining stubs. In stark contrast, Winifred has Bucky hang some mistletoe from the lightbulb in the living room, right over the top of the menorah.

After many hours of slaving away in the kitchen, Winifred and Isabel finally have the Christmas dinner prepared, various pots and plates set out on the table or still heating in the oven. They change back into their Sunday best just on six o'clock, when there is a knock at the door. Bucky lets Steve and Sarah inside, the two boys roughhousing in the corner. Sarah brings over the vast array of vegetables she has cooked up, as well two fresh loaves of bread ready to be cut.

By six thirty, the Barnes and Rogers families are sitting around the Barnes' kitchen table, extended with another foldable table brought from the Rogers' apartment, a white table cloth only used for special occasions draped over them both. In the middle of the table is a plump cooked chicken, which none of them have any idea how Winifred obtained considering their lack of money, surrounded by various bowls of cooked vegetables, a pot of rich gravy, the loaves of bread and tall candles that give off a calm ambience. After saying grace, led by George and contributed to by Becca, the families help themselves to one of the first full meals they've had in a long while.

The record plays quietly in the corner of the living room, the sound floating into the kitchen but barely audible over the chatter of the family. The news of Pearl Harbor, however, sets a dull atmosphere over the celebration, the atmosphere thick with fear and remorse. While everyone resorts to not talk about the war, they find that every conversation has turned to it.

Outside, the sky is dark, dropping snow onto the streets and buildings below. Winifred takes her eyes off the window and breaks the silence that has fallen over the table. "So, _vozlyublennaya_ , why don't we tell everyone the news?" Winifred asks George, taking his hand in her own.

"What news?" Bucky asks warily in between a mouthful of peas. Winifred gives him a sharp look, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut and continues chewing.

George smiles at the children, and Isabel realizes he looks more relaxed than she's seen him in years. "I received an offer for a position at an investment office a few days ago. They're starting up again at the start of the new year now that the Depression is coming to a definite end. It seems very promising. Your mother and I decided not to tell any of you until we'd made a decision. I'm officially re-employed," George informs them all, his grin widening with every syllable.

"Congratulations, George," Sarah tells Mr. Barnes, the tinge of Irish in her accent ever present.

"That's great, Dad!" Isabel tells George sincerely at the same time. A chorus of other congratulations and acknowledgments goes around the table.

"Thank you, everyone," George says sincerely.

"That's the cat's pajamas!" Becca chants, a saying she recently learned at school and uses for everything she thinks is even remotely good.

George laughs at his youngest daughter's antics. "I'll be working on Wall Street again, so I'll be away a little more during the day than I am right now, since the commute is longer. But the pay will be well worth it."

"We're very proud of you," Winifred tells George on behalf of the children, who nod in agreement. Steve nods too, smiling at Mr. Barnes when they make eye contact.

"Enough about me," George says good-naturedly. "What about you, Steve? Have you gotten many commissions lately?"

"Not really," Steve says, awkwardly pushing his peas around in the gravy on his plate. "Work's been very slow. I've been delivering papers in the morning to make a little more dough."

"Are you sure that's good for your asthma?" Winifred asks worryingly.

"It's fine, Mrs. Barnes," Steve assures. Beside Steve, Sarah rolls her eyes at her son in a way that says they've had this conversation before, and it most likely is not good for Steve's asthma. "I'm hoping another job opportunity will come through soon," Steve says vaguely, seemingly unwilling to offer any more information. Bucky widens his eyes at Steve, and Steve just smiles innocently back.

"Well," Winifred says when Steve offers no more, "until such time, we'll have to get you to do us a painting," Winifred offers, looking decidedly at an empty spot on the wall by the doorway, a nail already pressed into the plaster. "Maybe a family portrait?"

"That would be lovely," Steve agrees, already planning in his head what artwork he could produce for the Barnes'. "I'd start it now, was there not a delicious meal in front of me," Steve laughs.

"And you, ladies? How's the nursing going?" George asks his oldest daughter and their guest, who both work at the same hospital.

Isabel takes a second to swallow a mouthful of food. "Quite slow. I think a lot of the men we would usually treat for work accidents and the like have already begun to ship out to basic training." Sarah nods in agreement.

"We've had that at the docks too," Bucky pipes up. "There's a lot of positions going unaccounted for. Which only means the workload is harder and heavier for those of us remaining."

"They'll need women working in the factories and other establishments if they take too many men," George Barnes notes. "They could have used that in the First War, considering the jobs of the factory workers went unreplaced. Definitely didn't help in the Great Depression."

Everyone goes silent then, realizing the conversation has accidentally turned to one about the war once again. The only sound that breaks the silence is the sound of everyone's quiet chewing, and the low hum of the megaphone in the corner, a record spinning slowly on the stand.

Winifred turns her attention to Isabel then. "Isabel, _kotyonok_ , do you know the Williams' son? Daniel?"

Isabel looks quite surprised by the sudden change in the conversation. "I know of him," she specifies, looking unsure. "He goes to the dance hall sometimes. Why, mama?"

"Well I was talking to his mother just the other day, I ran into her at the market. She told me that Daniel is quite interested in meeting you."

Isabel practically chokes on her bread roll, having to take a swig of wine to wash it down. "Mom, please, don't play matchmaker for me."

"I'm not, we were just talking," Winifred dismisses. "He is a very nice young boy. All I'm saying is that if he tries to dance with you, don't say no."

Isabel rolls her eyes at her mother, earning a hard glare from her father at the head of the table. On her right, Steve looks incredible uncomfortable, avoiding everyone's eyes and looking down at his now empty plate. It doesn't escape the attention of Winifred, who's brow furrows in a questioning glance toward the blonde. Sarah notices too, and seems to give Steve a pitiful glance before looking away.

Around eight o'clock, after the dishes from dinner have been cleared, Sarah and Steve make their departure, thanking the Barnes' for their hospitality and welcoming attitude. Isabel hugs Sarah Rogers goodbye, the older woman enveloping both her and Bucky in a motherly hug. She then hugs the twins who swoop in for affection, Becca planting a smooch on Sarah's cheek and making her giggle.

"See you around, Steve," Bucky tells Steve, grabbing him in a noogie that messes up his smooth blonde hairstyle.

"Not if I see you first," Steve retaliates, punching Bucky's shoulder rather roughly. They laugh at their inside joke like young school boys, until Sarah breaks them up.

"You two never grew up," she berates as she leads Steve out the door with her.

"Bye, Isabel," Steve calls quickly just as the door closes behind them.

Winifred announces bedtime for the twins straight away, even though they're rather wound up by the departure of their visitors. They unhappily march off to their rooms, mumbling something about it not being fair being young and having a curfew. They dress themselves in their sleepwear with help from Winifred and both climb into Becca's single bed, awaiting story time. When Winifred sits down with a book to read them, they stop her, asking for Bucky to read to them.

Winifred emerges quickly from the girls' bedroom. "Bucky, they would like you to read to them," she tells Bucky, handing the book to him with a playful smirk.

Bucky obediently rises from his seat on the couch next to George and takes the book. Winifred pinches his cheek lovingly as he passes, and Bucky doesn't even try to bat her away because he's learnt from experience that it doesn't work. Winifred steals Bucky's seat, snuggling into George's side affectionately. Isabel remains in the loungeroom, watching her parents with equal adoration and disgust. Bucky chuckles at Isabel's expression as he walks into the girls' room, finding the twins both lying under the quilt together, leaning against the pillows.

"I heard you wanted me and not Ma," Bucky smirks, kneeling down by the bed.

He begins to read to them, the same book they always ask for every night. Bucky doesn't know what their interest is in hearing it every night, waiting for the little train to make his way up the hill and always defying the odds. Instead of asking, he reads as asked, putting great enthusiasm into the story and doing different voices for each character. The twins love it, laughing aloud as Bucky struggles not to burst into a fit of giggles himself.

He eventually finishes the book, chuckling at Robbie, who's fallen asleep during the course of the little train's journey in the book. Bucky picks him up bridal style, the boy's arm flopping down and his mouth wide open. Bucky carries him to their room and gently puts him into bed, pulling the blanket up over Robbie's shoulders.

He returns to turn off Becca's bedside light, smiling at her tiny face and mistaking her for being asleep. She looks just as Isabel had when she'd been younger, dark hair framing her petite features and long eyelashes resting on her cheeks. He flicks off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Just as he turns to leave, Becca tugs on his sleeve, making him jump. He turns back to find her awake and sitting up, her eyes wide in the light from the hallway.

"What, darlin'?" He asks curiously, noting the sadness pulling at her bottom lip.

"What will happen if you have to go to war?" She asks rather suddenly. Her face is sweet enough to make Bucky melt. "Steve said he has a job coming up, too. Is he going to war as well?"

Bucky inches himself to sit on the bed, sighing under his breath. It's amazing how perceptive children can be. "I'm not sure, doll. But if we did go to war, we'd have to go away for a while," he says carefully. He isn't even sure how much his siblings know about what a war is.

"Belle told us that it means you would be a hero and keep us safe?" Becca says, asking for clarification.

"Yeah, doll. Belle is right. We'd be going to war to keep you guys safe. Not everyone in the world is nice, not everyone is going to treat you nice. We have to stop those people before they get too close. And I'd never, ever let anyone hurt you, you hear? Not you, or your brother, or Belle, or our parents. Not even Steve. Nothing's going to happen, ever."

"You promise?" She asks innocently.

"I promise," he murmurs. Becca nods, her face solemn as she contemplates what Bucky has told her. The child doesn't perk up immediately like he'd expected her to. "Quit pouting," he tells her smoothly, poking her bottom lip. "A pretty girl like you ain't got a face fit to look so sad."

Becca giggles at that. To make her smile reach her eyes, Bucky quickly tickles under her armpits, causing the child to squeal and giggle, tossing and turning in his arms to get away from him.

"There's that grin," Bucky smiles back, letting her go. She slumps back against the pillows, crossing her arms protectively over her chest incase Bucky tries for a second tickle match. "Now, go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay, Bucky. Love you," Becca tells him like it's the easiest thing in the world, letting out a yawn. Bucky smiles at her fondly, watching as Becca shifts down in the bed and closes her eyes. He leans forward and kisses her forehead, smoothing her hair out of her face.

"Love you too, kid. Merry Christmas."


	4. Chapter 3

**3.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **May 3** **rd** **, 1942**

Bucky and Steve very rarely argue, but ever since December seventh, bickering has been a regular occurrence. Their first argument on the day of Pearl Harbor had shocked Bucky so much that he'd never wanted to touch the subject again, but Steve seems determined to confront Bucky, to make Bucky see that fighting is his destiny. The little ball of fury brings up the war every time they speak, and to everyone else they meet as well, expressing his opinionated views and explaining how he is going to become a soldier.

"Say anything you want to strangers. Feel free to explain your intentions to the poor woman you run into on your paper run. But whatever you do, don't say anything to my sister or my mom," Bucky warns him one day, just before a Sunday lunch with Bucky's family. Steve promises he won't, and he stays true to his word, not once discussing his ambitions in front of them. At least, not directly. Even then, as the Barnes family discuss the events overseas and Steve listens silently, only contributing generalised opinions, Bucky sees the brutal determination in Steve's eyes. He knows then that he will never be able to talk Steve down.

Bucky has to hand it to Steve – his determination is certainly something to be proud of. Bucky has never met anyone else as persistent and ambitious in his life. It truly is a credit to Steve's personality; he's a fighter, and definitely not a quitter.

The attack on Pearl Harbor prompted the United States to fully enter World War II immediately, and over time, the prospect of war feels a little closer to home for all Americans. The hype of war grows by the day as propaganda spreads throughout the cities, along with an understandable fear. Men and women of all ages begin to enlist themselves into the fight against the Axis Powers, offering protection to their country in return for many lives. As the hype grows, so does Steve's excitement and determination. He is willing to sacrifice everything for one chance; for a chance to be normal.

Bucky Barnes is not one of these people willing to make sacrifices. Yes, he supports the war and its propositions, but he in no way wants to fight for it. Despite the propaganda reminding him it is a man's job to fight for his country, he reasons with himself and the shame bubbling in his stomach that he has enough to fight for at home. Between his family, his work, and his quest to protect small, underestimated Steve, he already feels in over his head at times.

Nevertheless, Bucky hates it how Steve can pry at his heartstrings, saying how he feels called to serve and how he is being held back by his illnesses. And of course, Bucky gives in eventually, promising to help Steve build some muscle (if that was possible) so that he will look less sickly to give him a better chance of acceptance. Even if he isn't planning on getting Steve into the army, he knows Steve will do it anyway, with or without him. Besides, building up some muscle and some fitness won't kill Steve. Rather, it would be helpful – keeping him just that little bit fitter and healthier may be the difference between him having a rough summer season or a smoother one.

Despite all his grievances, Bucky's guilt and Steve's determination has brought them to Goldie's Boxing Gym downtown, where Bucky spends the weeks since the bombing and Christmas training Steve in what little he knows about the basics of hands-on combat, which admittedly isn't a lot and has really only been gained from his experience saving Steve from back alleys and dumpsters. He figures that even if Steve isn't accepted – which is likely, though he'd never say it aloud – a little experience in self-defense also won't hurt his accident-prone, trouble-attracting friend.

After a few minutes of steady punches, Steve's sweaty body steps away from the boxing mitts. He rests his hands on his knees as he draws shaky breaths. Bucky lowers the hand-held boxing mitts, stepping out of his tensed stance from Steve flinging punches at him. He wipes the sweat from his brow with his arm and waits patiently and warily until Steve finally stands up straight again, his face tinted a furious red. He raises his arms to go another round, breathing labored, but Bucky stops him, removing the hand-held boxing mitts and shaking his head.

"That's enough," Bucky says sternly. "You're going to have an asthma attack if you do much more."

"I'm fine, Buck. I know my limits," Steve grumps, but his breathless voice and heavy wheeze say differently. He begins to cough, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

"As I said, that's enough for tonight," Bucky repeats, slightly softer in his tone this time. "I don't want to spend the night with you in the hospital." Steve eventually nods in agreement, struggling to inhale a deep breath. Steve removes his boxing gloves roughly, and Bucky throws down the boxing pads in the box in the corner.

"You were doing well, Steve. You're getting better and stronger every day," Bucky tells him sincerely. Steve just glares at him and grunts in frustration, clearly not believing Bucky. Bucky sighs loudly and follows Steve as he exits the gym, both of them donning thin jackets as they walk down the sidewalk toward their respective apartments, the faintest trickle of rain beginning to fall. Bucky looks away from the shop windows momentarily, sparing a look at Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve's shoulders are slumped, a frustrated scowl overtaking his features. He looks utterly exhausted, dragging his feet beneath him and barely able to keep his eyes open. Bucky nudges the man to his right with his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't be so bummed, Steve."

"Easy for you to say, Bucky," Steve pouts, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You don't understand how frustrating it is feeling so weak, not being able to spar for five minutes without needed your inhaler."

Bucky doesn't say anything, because really, he doesn't know. He has no idea about what it feels like to be Steve. Sure, Bucky has witnessed a few asthma attacks over the years, he's spent many nights in the hospital keeping his friend company, and he's seen the way the common cold wreaks havoc on his friend's feeble body, but he's never felt it himself. Bucky is strong and in good health, clocking in at a good head taller than Steve, and being friends with Steve means he is constantly thankful for it.

"Buck, can I ask you something?" Steve asks, breaking the quiet between the two.

"Of course," Bucky replies, giving Steve his full attention.

"I'm going to try and enlist tomorrow. I waited until after Christmas, like you asked," Steve defends, staring straight ahead as he walks, hands in his jacket pockets. Bucky silently thanks God that Steve's rejection from the Army didn't ruin the Christmas spirit, and God forbid, if he'd actually been accepted. "I was wondering if you'd come with me? It might help calm the nerves, you know…if you're there as well?" Steve finishes awkwardly. Bucky is silent for a while, and Steve spares a quick glance at his friend as he waits for the reply. "Or not, you don't have to if you're busy or you don't want to–"

"If you're nervous about it, why are you enlisting? What are you scared of?" Bucky interrupts, his voice unusually quiet. Steve sees a range of emotions flit across his friend's face.

"I'm not scared of anything, and I'm not nervous about the war, or fighting, or going overseas," Steve says defensively, his thin hands flying around at his sides as if emphasizing his point. "I'm just wary of what they're going to say about me. I know that they're probably not going to let me in," Steve's arms drop to his sides again and he slumps, looking even smaller than normal. "But this is what I want right now, Bucky. I need to go overseas and fight for the little guy, fight for the people like me. I don't like bullies. And I just want you by my side while I enlist. I'm not asking you to fight beside me, I'd never ask that you of. Although, I obviously wouldn't say no if you offered, because it would make everything so much easier. But you're my best friend, and I respect your decision, whatever that may be."

Bucky hasn't even noticed they've reached Steve's apartment building and have stopped on the sidewalk. People are staring at the two, but neither Steve nor Bucky spare them a glance. Bucky looks at his friend carefully, his mind reeling. The logical part of his brain is telling him to argue, to try to knock some sense into Steve. He would be quite content both of them staying safely in New York, Bucky working at the freight port in Red Hook and playing superhero for Steve and his family. His life has become familiar and fun and safe, and the war is interrupting that routine. Unfortunately, Bucky's protective and rather irrational side is siding against his logical mind. If Steve is stupid enough to try to enlist and if the Army is stupid enough to take him, Bucky would follow his friend to the ends of the earth to ensure his safety. He knows he would in a heartbeat. But then he considers his family, and most importantly his sister. Could he leave them? What if he didn't have the choice? With the possibility of men being drafted, it's only a matter of time until he is drafted for service himself, or both of them are.

Steve watches Bucky's silent struggle. He can't count on both hands how many internal crisis' Bucky has had since he'd suggested going to war, and he does feel a little guilty. Steve in no way expects Bucky to go with him, and he full well understands how hard it would be for Bucky to let him go. But truthfully, Steve doesn't know if he'd even make it past recruitment. With his list of illnesses seemingly never-ending, he could be ineligible on his color-blindness or asthma alone.

Bucky finally moves, the confusion on his features melting into warmth as his hand comes up to grasp Steve's shoulder comfortingly. "I wouldn't sign myself up. But Steve, if you got recruited into the Army, I'd enlist within the hour," he says, trying his best to give Steve a smirk. It feels awkward and forced, but it must have been believable.

"You'd do that?" Steve asks incredulously, his features softening.

"Someone's got to make sure your puny ass makes it back home again," Bucky jokes. "But seriously, til' the end of the line, pal." Steve's blue eyes regain their twinkle, even in the darkness of the sidewalk, and Bucky finds himself smiling despite himself. "Sleep on it, I'll catch you tomorrow." Giving Steve a final slap on the shoulder, the two part ways, Steve climbing the stairs to his small apartment on the third floor and Bucky walking the last two blocks to his own apartment.

The entire walk home, Bucky considers what he's promised Steve. Despite all his fear and frustration, he's agreed to do the thing he wants least in the world. At least, what he thinks he wants least in the world. There's no denying that he couldn't let Steve go off to war and not follow. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Steve on the front while he sat at home in front of the cozy fire with a book. He knows it definitely hadn't been a lie or something he'd said to shut Steve up. He'd meant it. If Steve went to war, he would follow. But now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't know how well that little revelation is going to go down with his family, especially Isabel. She'll be furious and probably distraught, and just thinking about her reaction makes him cringe.

A shiver goes down Bucky's spine, whether it's from his thoughts or the cool night air, he doesn't know. He picks up the pace, finally entering the chilly lobby of his apartment building. The apartment itself is also cool as he steps inside, and he groans at the heater that has apparently broken again. His father has had the inspectors out twice now. The only heat radiating through the apartment comes from the kitchen, where a pot is steaming over the stovetop. Bucky stops for a second to soak up the smell of dinner, leaning against the closed front door. He hadn't noticed he was hungry until his stomach rumbled.

Before he has to wipe drool from his chin, he quickly trots down to his room to remove his shoes and dump his jacket. Robbie sits on his bed, reading a comic book, and only offers Bucky a wave in greeting. Bucky can hear his sister bustling around in her room, the soft sounds of music floating into the hallway from behind the closed wooden door. As he approaches her door the music quietens.

"Bucky? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Isabel, it's me," Bucky replies, his voice sounding somewhat flustered.

The door to the girl's room opens and his sister's cheerful face peaks through the opening. "You're home early? Mom and Dad are out tonight at a dinner for Dad's new work, so we're on babysitting duty. Oh, and the heating has stopped working again," she informs him as she opens her door up fully. A stray chocolate brown curl falls across her features and she tucks it behind her ear, pulling her jacket tighter around her frame. Behind her, Becca is sitting in a bundle of blankets. She smiles at Bucky from her cocoon and he winks at her, making her giggle.

"I can see that, it's like an icebox in here. It's supposed to be spring," Bucky grumbles, turning back into his own room, where this time he meets the unmistakable smell of body odor. Eyeing the offending pieces of clothing lying on the floor, he throws them into his washing basket and shuts the lid.

"Tell me about it. We can get the repairmen out tomorrow. Maybe they'll actually fix it this time," she laughs. "How was Steve today? I haven't seen him in a while," she asks quietly, lingering in the doorway.

Bucky debates whether or not to be truthful with her. After Christmas lunch, when Steve had mentioned a job coming up, Isabel had confronted Bucky to ask what he'd meant. He'd ended up letting the cat out of the bag, telling her that Steve was planning on enlisting for the army. Steve, though, still thinks that Isabel doesn't know, and he's still doing quite well to keep the secret. When Bucky had told Isabel, she'd dismissed the idea on Steve's illnesses alone, carefully reminding her brother not to worry as it was probably just a phase. What Bucky hasn't let on is that he is currently humoring their friend by training him at the gym to try to help his enlistment attempts, and he definitely isn't ready to tell Isabel that he's agreed to go to war if Steve is accepted.

He forms his answer very carefully. "Steve's taking this whole Army enlistment thing seriously. I don't know if you were right about it being just a phase," he finally replies, sighing quietly. "You know what he's like, Issy. If he wants something, he won't stop until he gets it, and he's got this overwhelming sense of justice or something. He doesn't really think."

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "But you and I both know that his illnesses will hold him back, they always have. I doubt this time will be any different. He can enlist as many times as he wants, but I don't think it's anything to worry about," she says simply, reverting to the same argument they all seem to fall to. Bucky nods in agreement, maybe a little too quickly. She narrows her eyes at him slightly before looking down at her feet.

Bucky knows that she knows he's holding out on her, and feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He is kind of lying to her. Well, not technically, he's just withholding the whole truth, but his intentions are good – he just wants to keep her from getting upset or being angry with them. She's well aware that war is not something to take lightly, she's seen the consequences of it being a nurse at the hospital. The idea of her brother and best friend fighting overseas would be devastating. Really, Isabel's still just a kid, coming up twenty-one at the end of the year. Could he really burden her with the knowledge? He supposes she does have the right to know…

Suddenly, the smell of burning, which is awfully familiar in the household, wafts through the doorway from the kitchen. Isabel's head snaps up, eyes wide. He hears her mutter something under her breath in annoyance as she flies down the hallway.

"Oh shit!" His sister cries, which their mother would say is very unladylike, followed by a loud clanging of pans and plates. Bucky shakes his head and laughs, plastering on his normally natural, confident façade. He wanders down the short hallway and stops by the entrance of the small kitchen, his mouth stretched into its trademark smirk.

"What disastrous dish have you cooked up for us tonight, doll?" He teases as he leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Whatever tension that had been present before leaves the room when Isabel scoffs at his comment, her full eyebrows raising slightly to the challenge.

"Says the one who can't cook. You always suggest going to a diner or eating at Steve's when it's your night to cook." She grabs four plates from the cupboard beside her, piling the food onto them generously. Bucky calls out to the twins, who come running from their bedrooms and set themselves up at the table. He takes the plates from Isabel and sets them in front of the twins, getting a good look at the burnt potatoes and vegetables. Becca's face curls up in disgust, and Robbie tries to push his plate away. Isabel's warning glance sees Robbie pull the plate back toward him and take a large bite of broccoli.

"You still didn't answer my question. What is it?" Bucky jokes as Isabel hands him his own plate, earning himself a nudge in the ribs.

* * *

The evening ends like any other. The twins head to bed around eight and are asleep within minutes, Bucky and Isabel staying up later and reading their own books to the background noise of the radio, making small conversations here and there. Their parents return from the dinner party around eleven, George dressed in a handsome tuxedo and Winifred wearing a dazzling emerald green dress. Despite only just picking up work again, the Barnes couple seem to be returning to their former glory, slowing building up their savings again. George pours himself a glass of whiskey, drinking it slowly in the corner by the window and looking out at the Brooklyn streets below. Meanwhile, Winifred stays up a little later to fill Bucky and Isabel in on their night, describing a lavish night of meeting George's new colleagues, fancy dinners and dancing in Manhattan. Isabel and Winifred gush over the details, as Isabel hasn't experienced anything of the like in her lifetime, while Bucky sits contentedly by the fireplace, their chatter distracting him from his thoughts.

However, later that night when the apartment falls into silence, Bucky lays in the darkness of his bedroom. The sound of the wind against his window is comforting. It reminds him of where he is, that he's safe. His sleep so far has been invaded by nightmares from his worst imagination, mainly of himself and Steve suffering horrendously in a warzone that he has no control over. They're always muddy and bloody, rifles slung over their shoulders and helmets clipped under their chins, trudging through the tranches of Europe, and their adventures always seem to end in tragedy.

He stares up at the paint peeling on the roof, unable to go back to sleep. How could he have let Steve's fascination go so far? He should have been more forceful with his friend and shut down the idea as soon as it was raised. He knows Steve will keep trying and keep being rejected because of his ailments, but he can't shake the fear of Steve actually being accepted. He can't dismiss the image of tiny Steve swallowed up in the green of the army uniform, holding a rifle that was just too big and constantly lifting his oversized helmet off of his eyes. He knows Steve won't fare well in battle – no one does, the odds aren't exactly in the soldiers' favour – and that is only if he makes it to the warzone. The cold of the air could be enough to seize up his lungs, or he could have a fatal asthma attack, or one of his stomach ulcers could burst and he could bleed internally. The options are varied, and terrifying. And while all of those things could plague Steve here in Brooklyn, he'd be home, close to medical help and in access of medication. On the battlefields, help would be few and far between.

Plus, Bucky knows that Isabel and his family would be devastated if they left. He knows how the waiting game would affect them, waiting to hear from her Bucky or Steve if they are still alive, where they are, and if they are coming home. And he can't even imagine what it would be like if one of them had to write home to inform both their families that only one of them would be returning, hoping to give the news themselves before the letter arrived in the mail.

He pushes the idea out of his mind. Right now, they aren't being sent off to war, they haven't been accepted, they haven't even enlisted. Yet, no matter how much he tells himself that, he's still frightened of the idea. And to top it off, he's lying to Isabel, keeping her in the dark. Everything is spiraling a little too far from normal for his liking. He knows it's selfish, but he wants everything to stay just the way it is now, despite how dull and monotonous it can be at times. He wants Steve to be better, to not be sick anymore, and to find happiness in something that isn't fighting a war, and he wants–

He doesn't really know what he wants, and honestly, he doesn't really want to think about it. He rolls over and pulls the blanket over his head, covering his world in blackness. He tries not to think, tries to clear his mind, and eventually finds himself falling asleep as the sun outside rises above the horizon.


	5. Chapter 4

**4.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **May 4** **th** **, 1942**

Steve knocks on the door of the Barnes family apartment at eight sharp the next morning, much to Bucky's surprise, who was already awake and loitering around the kitchen after only managing to sleep an hour or two. Steve has dark shadows under his eyes, indicating that he got very little sleep the night before. Bucky assumes he'd been up late thinking about their promise to each other as well.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, opening the door to his friend. Bucky's still in his pajamas, his hair unruly after a fitful sleep and falling in his eyes without its usual dose of gel. "What are you doing here so early? It's a Sunday."

"The recruitment center opens at nine. I want to be there for the opening," Steve informs him, walking quietly into the apartment so as to not wake the rest of the Barnes family.

"Steve–" Bucky hisses in protest, but stops when he sees Steve's glare. He remembers his first promise, just to be there to support Steve, and hurries through his routine to get ready with little grumbling.

They make it to the recruitment center by nine, right in the heart of Brooklyn. The building is pristine both inside and out, a relatively new build. Inside, it has a hospital-like ambience, with white floors and walls, and small curtained-off rooms forming a corridor past the reception desk. The waiting area is empty, most people not making their way to the center at such an early hour on a weekend. Bucky sits silently in one of the plastic chairs lining the wall as Steve approaches the desk to sign in. He watches carefully as Steve gives his name to the sullen-looking nurse at the counter, who stares him up and down with an eyebrow raised and obediently hands over a clipboard with forms. Steve brings it back to the seats, plopping down beside Bucky. Bucky feels horrified at the look of excitement on Steve's face.

Steve fills out the form quickly, printing his information in his elegant, artistic cursive writing. He ticks a lot of yes boxes, rather worryingly, resulting in a long list of past or current illnesses and afflictions. He asks Bucky a few questions when his memory fails him, like _"How many times do you think I've had pneumonia, Buck?"_ , and with every question he answers honestly, his hope and excitement seems to fade. He finally takes the completed forms back to the nurse. She scans them carefully, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher on her forehead as she reads Steve's rather extensive list of medical conditions, but files the form nonetheless. After that, the friends sit in a strained silence as they wait for Steve's name to be called for his physical.

Bucky's leg taps on the floor to conceal his nervous energy. "What are you going to do if they take you?" He asks as a last-ditch attempt to talk Steve out of his decision.

"What you normally do when you join the Army?" Steve asks snidely, glaring at Bucky. His mood has been completely ruined by filling out the forms, one of the first times Steve has willingly confided his entire medical history to anyone but his doctor, his mother, and Bucky. It's embarrassing for him to admit how weak and sick he truly is.

"You gonna leave your ma?" Bucky points out, knowing it's a low-blow, and he feels guilty as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"Yeah, I am," Steve says stubbornly. "It'll hurt, but plenty of other guys are leavin' their ma's too."

Bucky's mouth turns into a flat line, but he nods in surrender and turns away from Steve just as Steve's name is called by the nurse. Steve stands and follows the woman into the curtained room, where Bucky vaguely hears the woman tell Steve to take off his shirt. He laughs quietly, imagining Steve's face turning bright red as he bears his slight frame for examination.

The only other man in the center, who entered not two minutes ago, sits down few down seats away from Bucky. He fills out his forms quickly, ticking no to all the ailments, before returning the form and then sitting down again. He looks at Bucky out the side of his eye, taking in Bucky's relaxed posture, then leans over a little bit.

"What infantry are you joining?" He asks, his tone light and friendly as though they're talking about baseball. "I'm hoping for the 101st."

"Not joining anything," Bucky says, rather clipped. He isn't going to join anything prematurely and risk himself getting in and Steve getting rejected.

"But you gotta be in it," the man persists.

"Don't have to be if I don't want to."

"You gotta," the man replies, his voice incredulous that Bucky would consider skipping out on the war.

"No, I don't. It's a free country, or haven't you heard?" Bucky snaps, turning to glare at the man. He's not really a man, just a kid, maybe eighteen if he's lucky. "Are you even old enough to join?"

"Wanted to join in December, but missed out. I was too young," the kid admits, blush coloring his tanned cheeks.

"Here's a tip: don't. Don't throw your life away," he tells the kid, like some professional on the topic. He folds his arms over his chest and turns away from the kid, abruptly ending their conversation. The other man silently looks around the room, stealing worried glances toward Bucky, suddenly looking very unsure of himself. When his name is called, he disappears into one of the curtained rooms.

Steve exits from behind the curtains then, his face contorted into a pinched frown and his hand clutching a thin yellow slip of paper. Bucky feels relief settle in his stomach that Steve obviously hasn't been accepted, followed by remorse for thinking such things about his friend. No matter how relieved he is, he resorts to be sympathetic for Steve, standing up and walking toward his friend.

"What's the verdict?" He asks Steve warily, though he already knows the answer. He hopes his voice doesn't betray his overwhelming relief that Steve hasn't been accepted – at least, not this time. He hopes he sounds generally interested.

"They took one look at me and then my chart, and stamped a 4F without even asking me a question," Steve tells him, his shoulders tense and his fists curled into balls. "It isn't fair."

"Life ain't fair, Stevie," Bucky tells him solemnly. Steve only nods in agreement.

He throws an arm over Steve's shoulder as they exit the recruitment center. Bucky hurries out rather quickly, worried the nurse will look at him and say, " _Hey, you're fit and fighting and healthy, you're in"._ He sneaks a peak back inside, watching as the teenager he'd talked to walks back out of the examination block, naively excited about the prospect of the fight with a white slip in his pale hand. He imagines the kid with a bullet through his forehead, shivers, and shoves the thought from his mind.

"He wouldn't even listen to me," Steve continues, bringing Bucky back from his rather vivid imagination. "I tried to tell him this was what I wanted most. Doesn't it make sense to have your most passionate recruits on the front lines? The ones who actually want to fight for the war?"

"Well yeah, it does," Bucky says, because it is true. Half the guys actually out there fighting probably couldn't give a damn about the cause. "But they're not going to think about that. All they want to know is that the men they send out there will be able to fight, physically. They can't have a whole platoon of soldiers who'll drop dead at the first sign of flowers and pollen in the air in spring."

Steve huffs angrily, ignoring Bucky's barb. "I'll just keep going to the gym and try again in a month or so."

"Steve, if they turned you down because of your medical record, I don't think boxing is going to do much good. Boxing doesn't magically cure your asthma, or your anemia, or anything else you got goin' on," Bucky reasons.

"I just wanted a chance," Steve says quietly, his voice conceding defeat. Bucky sighs along with his friend.

"I know, pal. There are plenty of things you can do here, though. You don't have to go overseas to be of service."

"Like what? Try to promote war bonds to people who can't afford them? Work in some stinking factory making ammunition with the women?" Steve asks sarcastically.

"All perfectly respectable jobs," Bucky tells Steve seriously. "In fact, I'll do them with you, if you want. Staying in Brooklyn is nothing to be ashamed of. Don't let anyone make you feel like you have to prove something."

"I'm not proving anything to anyone, I'm doing it for myself," Steve says with finality, and Bucky doesn't quite know how to respond.


	6. Chapter 5

**5.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **June 7** **th** **, 1942**

Bucky hastily begins searching for past times to take Steve's mind off his recent fairly rejection from the army. Quickly, he settles on a day trip to Coney Island. He and Steve haven't been in years, not since they were thirteen and spent their train money on a second hot dog each at lunch time and got caught riding without a ticket on the way home. He drags Connie Capone along with him to keep him company with Steve and Isabel, not explicitly calling it a "double date" but hoping that will be the end result. That's always the plan for these outings, and while it hasn't ended that way yet, Bucky's never been a quitter.

The air by the beach is significantly cooler than in the city, blowing off the water and over the pier. Still, under the hot sun the four friends almost swelter, trying to keep to the shade provided by the buildings and sideshows to protect them from sunburn. Bucky can handle a little sun, thanks to working in the docks, but Isabel and Steve are both rather fair-skinned, and sunburn is not overly flattering.

The beach to the left and right of the boardwalk is an amass of brightly coloured swimsuits, an array of visitors flocking in the water and swimming around the jetty. Despite how enticing the cool, blue water looks from afar, they decide to stay away from the beach itself, since there's hardly an inch of sand available for any of them to sit anyway. The crowds on the pier aren't much better, but the pier also has an availability of food, sideshows and rides. As the four friends step onto the wooden planks, the Cyclone rollercoaster rattles on its tracks above them, screams filling the air. All around them, the boardwalk games produce pleasant melodies and catchy tunes, and sideshow hosts call out to them to have a try of their games. The place is familiar and comfortable, immediately stirring a childlike freedom within them.

"Ah, I missed these sounds," Bucky says appreciatively, like a child in a candy shop upon returning to his boyhood hangout. Bucky takes Connie's hand and leads her down the boardwalk, pointing out things of interest and providing comedic anecdotes for Connie's benefit, since Isabel and Steve either know them all or where present at the time. Isabel and Steve stay back from the couple, following them quietly and enjoying the smell of the fresh sea air. They've all got pocketsful of coin to waste on the games, Steve's coins jingling in his pocket as he walks.

In the far corner of the boardwalk, right up against the ocean, stands a shooting gallery. Little yellow ducks are scattered on a backboard along metal brackets, with a plastic gun sitting on the front bench waiting for someone to use it. The eye-catching sight, however, is the row of teddy bears lining the top of the stall, almost as big as the girls' themselves.

"Oh, they are so cute!" Connie coos, eyeing the teddy on the far end with the pink bow tied around its neck.

"You want one? I'll win it for you," Bucky says confidently, striding toward the booth and handing over the requestioned coinage to the carnie. Connie gushes over Bucky, going up to his side to watch as he picks up the small plastic gun. Steve and Isabel loiter behind, silently waiting for Bucky to make an absolute fool of himself in the name of love. They both know he's never played a shooting galley sideshow before since their parents had always warned them against playing the scheming sideshow games, let alone shot a gun, and the odds of him actually winning the game are pretty slim. Still, he could probably stand to have his ego knocked down a notch.

The game, on the hardest setting in order to win the largest teddies, starts up with a loud melody, the ten tiny ducks flying around the board in random patterns. It would be impossible to hit them all, and that's the entire point of the game; it's nothing but a money-making scheme. Bucky raises the gun anyway and takes his time aiming, closing one eye to see better and pouting his mouth slightly. He pulls the trigger, shooting the bullet, which is nothing more than another piece of plastic. It hits one duck right in the centre of its painted target, causing it to fall backward out of sight. He aims again, and again, firing each shot precisely and taking down all of the ducks, except one. Steve's jaw drops open at the sight.

The stall-owner clearly thinks Bucky's efforts were a fluke, and maybe they were, because he's only slightly reluctant when he hands over the pink-ribboned teddy to a gleaming Connie, who giggles and kisses Bucky's cheek. Bucky looks behind him to smirk cockily at Steve, catching sight of Isabel eyeing the teddy.

"I'd better get one for my sister, too," Bucky tells the man, handing over another coin and waiting for the game to begin again. The carnie watches eagerly, expecting Bucky to not be able to repeat his past actions, but Bucky proves everyone wrong when this time he scores ten for ten, not missing any of the ducks.

The carnie stares open-mouthed at the board, before whirling on his customer. "You're a rotten cheat," the stall-owner growls at Bucky, getting very close to Bucky's face and jabbing his finger into his chest.

"Not a cheater, just a hidden talent I didn't know I had," Bucky says simply, smiling innocently at the man, not in the slightest unnerved by his aggression. "I believe I won a bear, fair and square. Are you really going to deny the prize to such a beautiful doll like my sister?" He asks the man, smirking back at Isabel, who's still rather gobsmacked by Bucky's newly found talent for shooting.

The stall-owner glares at Bucky for a moment, conceding defeat as there really is no way to cheat at this particular sideshow game anyway, before turning his attention to Isabel. "Which one you want, girl?" He asks gruffly.

Isabel points hastily to a blonde, extremely fluffy teddy with bright blue eyes, which the carnie gets down and begrudgingly hands over. She hugs it to her chest protectively as Bucky puts a hand on the small of her back, leading her and Connie away from the fuming sideshow worker. "Let's go, girls."

Connie rushes forward to show Steve her bear, and he feigns interest, even petting it to feel its soft texture when Connie provokes him to.

"Thanks, Buck," Isabel thanks Bucky, lifting the stuffed bear so that it can place a kiss on Bucky's cheek.

"No problem, sis," Bucky chuckles, pretending to push away the bear's advances. He takes another second to look more closely at the bear, his head cocking to the side in thought, before meeting Isabel's eyes. "Kinda reminds me of Steve," Bucky mumbles only loud enough for Isabel to hear, winking at her before walking off with Connie, leaving Isabel red-faced. Steve looks at her questioningly, waiting for her so they can catch up to Bucky and Connie, who are making their way further down the boardwalk.

"I think we should ride on something," Bucky announces to the group. "Before lunch, so that we don't lose whatever we eat."

"Sounds good," Isabel says. "But where will we put the teddies?"

"I'm sure we can find somewhere," Bucky says offhandedly, scouring the area in search for the perfect ride. They've really only got enough money to waste on one ride each, so they have to choose wisely. Overhead, the Cyclone carriage flies past again, giving Bucky his plan.

"Ah, the Cyclone. Perfect."

"Oh, no," Connie says, waving her free hand in surrender. "That's too much for me."

"Yeah, not really my style, Bucky. I thought you meant more the merry-go-round or something," Isabel agrees. "Connie and I can stay with our stuff and you boys can ride. You may as well, we don't know when we'll be back next."

Bucky tuts. "Girls," he says to Steve, rolling his eyes for emphasis. "What do you say, Steve? You up for the Cyclone?" Bucky's look is challenging, as though daring Steve to cave like the "girls" did, though there is some hesitance in his stance since it's likely Steve won't be able to ride the rollercoaster due to his ailments. But Steve squares his shoulders and nods, not one to back down from a challenge. He looks upward into the sky at the towering wood structure just as another cart flies down the side of the drop, rattling loudly along the rails.

"We'll be back," Steve tells the women with a determined smirk.

"Blondes have more fun," Bucky tells the girls as he passes them, following Steve across the boardwalk to the entrance. The line extends in a winding queue, so the girls settle in for a long wait. They make small talk as Steve and Bucky slowly trudge up to the front, managing to snag the very front seat on the carriage. Bucky rubs his hands together excitedly as Steve clambers into the seat in front of him. He drops in beside the blonde and they strap themselves in, Steve already gripping the handrail in front of them in preparation.

"It'll be good, Stevie, I promise. I remember riding it when I was a kid."

"Yeah, sure. Except you don't have life-threatening asthma or vertigo, among other things," Steve says, but there isn't any heat behind his words.

"Well, forgive me for being healthy," Bucky shoots back as the car lurches forward and they begin the ascent up the tracks.

They spot the girls on a nearby bench as the car is pulled up the hill, clacking along on the rails. Bucky waves wildly down to them and they wave back, smiling brightly.

From the top of the incline they have a view over the ocean to their left, and the entire New York region to their right, the Empire State Building stretching upward like a marvel amidst the shorter buildings of Manhattan and its surroundings. Steve takes a second to admire the beauty of his city, the feel of the wind rustling his hair, the feeling of weightlessness beneath him.

Then he literally is weightless, his stomach rising into his throat as they plunge over the edge of the drop, plummeting fast toward the ground along the tracks. Steve's scream catches in his throat. He grips the bar in front of them until his knuckles turn white, holding on for dear life whilst Bucky cackles beside him having the time of his life. Bucky whoops, the cheer lost in the screaming wind. The coaster seems to go forever, winding up, down and around the track and making Steve's stomach lurch uncomfortably repeatedly.

By the time the car stops roughly back in the docking bay, Steve's face is hot and his stomach is churning. Bucky and Steve clamber back out of the car and down the ramp toward the girls. While Steve focuses on not throwing up, Bucky rambles on behind him about the adrenaline rush and the amazing technology behind that kind of ride. Isabel and Connie notice the boys exiting the coaster and make their way over through the building crowds.

"Didn't you like it, Steve? Or was it a little too much for you?" Bucky asks playfully, knocking Steve's shoulder with his own.

"That was a bad idea," Steve says quietly.

Connie reaches Bucky, slipping easily into his embrace. "We saw you guys up the top looking over the city! I wish we'd have been able to see your faces when you dropped over the edge!" She tells Bucky.

"Oh, Steve was a real sight. He was terrified!" Bucky hollers in laughter as he remembers the sight of Steve's terror. "He was all like," Bucky pulls a face of terror, mocking Steve and making Connie burst out laughing.

Isabel, however, isn't laughing, instead looking concernedly at Steve, who's face has turned an unpleasant shade of green-grey. "Steve, are you–"

Steve turns suddenly and leans over a nearby trashcan, coughing and spluttering and depositing his breakfast into the bin.

"Bucky!" Isabel hisses, rushing over the rub Steve's back comfortingly as he throws up. "You shouldn't have forced him to go on the rollercoaster."

"It isn't my fault the little punk can't back away from a challenge!" Bucky defends himself. He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket and puts it into Steve's hand that holds the edge of the bin.

"Don't look, Is," Steve manages to say, using the handkerchief to wipe at his mouth. "You shouldn't have to see this."

"Steve, I think you're forgetting I'm a nurse. It's fine, I've seen worse," Isabel reassures him.

"No, I–" Steve's protest is cut off by a fresh wave of nausea and he turns to throw up again.

Isabel glares at her brother over Steve's blonde head, and Bucky at least has the sense to look guilty. Even though Bucky knows Steve's an adult and can make his own decisions, he still feels guilty enough to buy Steve a lemonade to settle his stomach on the walk home, punctuating it with a delightful nickname.

* * *

Early the next morning, Bucky sits at the kitchen table, wolfing down a quick meal before he's due to leave for the docks. It's barely light outside, the sun only just beginning to rise above the horizon, but the world is already starting to rumble to life, the purr of cars increasing as they drive along the streets of Brooklyn in the direction of the big smoke.

Beside Bucky's coffee and plate of toast is the evening before's newspaper, which he hadn't had time to read last night. He scans the pages quickly as he takes another bite of his toast, bypassing the boring material. His eyes pause on a middle page, an overbearing article taking up an entire page in the paper that usually only has room for small advertisements.

" _U.S. Army struggles to find voluntary enlistments"_. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and reads on. _"On September 16, 1940, the United States instituted the Selective Training and Service Act of 1940, which required all men between the ages of 21 and 45 to register for the draft. This was the first peacetime draft in United States' history. At that time, those selected from the draft lottery were required to serve at least one year in the armed forces. With the entering of the U.S. into World War II, draft terms have been extended to span the duration of the fight. Up until this time, the U.S. Army have not had to rely solely on the draft for enlistment, as after the Attack on Pearl Harbour, voluntary enlistments have flooded recruitment agencies at a steady rate. Unfortunately, the list of willing, qualified candidates had dwindled, and so the Selective Service (draft) will be employed to fill the gaps. This notice is to inform that conscription evasion, an attempt to elude government-imposed obligation to serve in the military forces or refusal to comply with military conscription laws, is a criminal offence. While it is possible to apply for a conscientious objector status, many applications will be rejected if they are seen as irrelevant. It must be noted that the options for conscientious objector include serving as a noncombatant in the military, serving time in federal prison, or taking an in-between position as a specially organized domestic Civilian Public Servant. Immigration to–"_

Bucky stops reading. He pushes his chair back and takes his plate to the sink, dumping the rest of his toast in the bin. He's lost his appetite. Then, he grabs the newspaper and tears it angrily, throwing the wrinkled paper in the bin.

He and Steve both registered for the draft back in October 1940, as they was required to do, but in all honesty, Bucky had thought the war would be over well before he'd ever be called up for service. He's spent the last few months humouring Steve, trying to get his friend to realise the error in his ideals. He'd supported Steve, but tried to give him firm pushes in the right direction. Now, karma of some sort seems to be catching up to him. Anytime, anyplace, he could be called up. From now on, he'll be constantly haunted by the suspense of waiting for drafting. He thinks of Steve being called up in the draft lottery, along with himself, and shudders at the thought.

Slipping on his work boots, Bucky makes his way out the door and walks down the street to work, avoiding looking in the apartment's mailbox in the lobby. The image of a small white card summoning him for service burns a hole in his mind before he's even ever seen one.

* * *

Seven days after the announcement in the paper, Bucky finds the card in the mail slot, hidden between the other bills and letters. He stands in the lobby for a few minutes looking at the envelope, holding the offending piece in his suddenly shaking hand. He turns it over slowly, reading it over and over.

 _NOTICE TO REGISTRANT TO APPEAR FOR PHYSICAL EXAMINATION_

 _June 14, 1941_

 _You, James Buchanan Barnes, are hereby directed to report to the Brooklyn Recruitment Office for a physical examination at 9:00am on June 16, 1941. Failure to do so is an act punishable by imprisonment and fine, and may also result in your losing valuable rights and in your immediate induction into military service._

He's been conscripted. So soon after he'd read it in the paper. He guesses it's kind of a relief, since he won't have to spend the next few months or years waiting for the dreaded notice. The suspense is over, fizzled out like a dying fire. Now, all that lies in Bucky's heart is the loitering black smoke of fear.

He has a momentary vision of himself crossing the border to Canada, or even Mexico, but he doesn't see how that would ever work for him, and he immediately pushes it from his mind. It's not that he's a coward. He really isn't. He just knows he's got enough to live for at home that he doesn't need to die for someone else's fight.

He also has no idea how he'll tell Steve. Of course, he's been drafted, and Steve has every possibility of being drafted too, but Steve could show up for the physical examination and still be turned away. Bucky knows he won't be. He ponders for a moment on his course of action, whether to lie or be truthful. How do you tell your best friend that you're reluctantly doing the thing they want most in the world because you haven't got a choice, when you know they'd jump at the chance to be in your position?

Bucky's thoughts are broken off by the sound of the door to the lobby opening, a gust of hot air blowing in. He turns dumbly, meeting the eyes of his sister. Isabel smiles at Bucky, then she notices the card in his hand, and her entire face drops.

"What is that?" She asks quietly, moving forward and plucking the card out of Bucky's limp hand. She reads it momentarily, her eyes scanning over and over as if she can't believe it either. Then, she looks up at Bucky, her grey eyes steely, but heartbroken. "Buck," she breathes.

"Yeah. I saw it coming," Bucky manages to say, taking the card from her. He turns away and starts up the stairs, Isabel following in silence.

Bucky makes it all the way to his room without hearing another word, and he thinks maybe Isabel has decided to leave him be. He stops by the door and leans over, taking off his work boots. She passes him and puts her handbag down on the kitchen table, watching as he walks down the hallway to his room. He hears her footsteps follow him, and hher voice speaks up from the doorway. "You didn't enlist voluntarily, did you?"

"Of course not. I only registered for the draft like we were told to back in '40," Bucky says, sitting down heavily on his cot. "I don't want to go."

"I don't blame you," Isabel mumbles, moving to sit down beside him. She takes his hand in her own, despite how dirty it is. "It's just a physical examination, right?"

"Yeah. Then, when I pass it, I'll be shipped off somewhere for basic training within the hour. That's what happened to everyone else. They're getting desperate for recruits now. They want to send them out straight away."

Isabel nods, her eyes looking glassy. "What are you going to tell Steve?"

"The truth," Bucky decides. "I can't lie to him. He'd never think I'm ungrateful or anything, but he'll be upset that I'm going and he isn't. It's his dream, and it's one of the things he can never do."

"I know, and it's a shame, in a way."

Bucky takes a deep breath, and then smiles at his sister. "Still, I'm surely not the only unlucky bastard that won't want to be there."

"I'm sure you won't be," Isabel agrees. She squeezes Bucky's hand gently, and Bucky's thankful because it seems to ground him when his mind wants to race off with unnecessary mental images of what's awaiting him. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"Always," Bucky promises, smirking at his sister. He puts his other hand over hers and squeezes even tighter.


	7. Chapter 6

**6.**

 **Tomah, Wisconsin**

 **June 24** **th** **, 1942**

Bucky's been at Camp McCoy for only a few days and he's already decided it's hell on earth. He doesn't know why he got sent all the way to Wisconsin, thinking maybe he got on the wrong bus or something, but his name was on the check in list, so he must be in the right place. The camp is packed with sweaty, loud mouth soldiers-to-be. The barracks are dirty and well-used, in need of a desperate clean and upgrade. Still, they can't complain. They have a bed and blankets and food.

Bucky's always thought he was rather fit. Working at the docks keeps him lean and strong, the physical labour monotonous but testing, but the regular personal training sessions are really doing a number on it. Muscles ache that he'd never known he had, and in the middle of the twenty-mile jog, every breath feels like razor blades in his lungs. He thinks he might now know a little bit of what life with asthma is like.

While he likes the routine, since it reminds him somewhat of his menial life in Brooklyn, he hates the discipline, and the pain, and the thought that lingers on his shoulders that it will be much, much worse once he gets to the front. The only thing that keeps him going is the promise than in just under nine weeks, he can go home again, back to his slightly more comfortable bed and back to food that will far surpass the Army slops in the mess hall.

Until then, Bucky does what's asked of him. He runs as far and as long as they ask, and does steady push ups as the drill sergeant directs. He keeps his weapons clean and also his person, keeps his dress uniform pressed and his active duty clothes spare of dirt. He buys no contraband from anyone, no matter what they offer him, and he tries to stick to himself, only making friends with the men in the bunks around him. He addresses his commanding officers kindly and respectfully, despite the underlying hate he feels for them for dragging him into this chaos. He obeys their every command, no matter how taxing, all in the name of getting home.

After days of running, doing jumping jacks, climbing over the wall and crawling under barbwire, they finally move on to basic weapons training. The drill sergeant sections off areas and send troops there and everywhere, giving them weapons to try and sending others to lectures about the working mechanisms of each firearm.

Bucky gets a rifle put in his hands, though he has no idea which type, and is given a basic rundown of his functioning. With that part addressed, he takes his position, a few soldiers at either side of him. In front of them, multiple rows of haybales with targets painted on them ascend up the grassy hillside, higher up the further away they are. Bucky takes a second to remind himself of the gun before lying down on the grass, which is dewy and cold beneath his uniform clad body. He adjusts his grip, getting used to the feel of the rifle in his hands. The drill sergeant blows his whistle and the men beside him start shooting, their aims atrocious and sending bullets into the mountain side.

Bucky takes his time, making slow movements to practise the behaviour of a sniper. Loud movements like those of the men next to him would cause him to be spotted. He positions the sniper rifle up to his eye, the other squinted shut, his helmet perched atop his recently cut hair. He takes a deep breath, moves the rifle slightly to the right, and pulls the trigger, the force of the shot jamming the butt of the gun into his shoulder painfully.

He looks up just in time to see the target rattle as the bullet plants itself firmly into the bullseye of the haystack. He lets himself smile, admiring his work, before lining up again, hitting a bullseye on the next target slightly further away. He continues in that manner, hitting each target, his breathing calm and controlled.

"He's like a statue," he hears a young-sounding troop say, and he blocks the voices out again, forcing himself to focus.

It's an odd feeling, to have a weapon in his hands. The rifle is intricate and intimate and intimidating all at once. The metal is cool and slick against his palms, the gun heavy to hold but light at the same time. The blunt force of it is frightening, but also empowering – he supposes because he isn't the unlucky bugger at the receiving end. The weapon feels familiar in his hands, as though he'd been carved to do this very thing. It makes him want to throw the gun down and walk away.

"You're a good shot, Private Barnes," the drill sergeant tells Bucky when he stands from his position, wiping the bits of grass from his front. "Real good, you hit ten for ten your first time wielding a firearm, and six of them were bullseyes." The drill sergeant pauses, takes a critical glance at Bucky. "With a little more training, you could be the best sniper in the US Army. I'm sure of it. You've got a natural talent."

"Thank you, sir," Bucky says a little breathlessly, expecting weeks of torture rather than compliments.

"You ever considered MOS, kid?"

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of it," Bucky says cautiously.

"Military Occupational Specialty. You haven't heard of it because you have to be offered it. I'm offering it to you. Snipering. Sure, basic training gets extended from ten weeks to fourteen, but in the scheme of things it's a small price to pay." Bucky looks doubtful at the idea of extending his time at basic. "Speaking of pay, you'll be a Sergeant, so the pay goes up fifty dollars a month."

"Fifty dollars a month?" Bucky repeats, astounded.

"Yeah. It's a lot for the average fella, right? What do you say?"

Bucky hesitates. The idea of becoming a Sergeant, of being in charge of the lives of other men and having to make difficult calls in the field seems harrowing. He never wanted to be here, let alone lead a company of men. Just the idea of the responsibility weighs on his shoulder heavily, and with the addition of a backpack, he doesn't know if he'd be able to carry the weight. But still, he assumes he's never going home again. He'll return to Brooklyn once more before he's shipped out to the conflicts, and he assumes that will be the last time. If he isn't going home, he may as well make the most of his time. He could claw up the ladder, up the ranks before he ships out, consciously work to become an officer so the pray increases and he'll have more to send home to the family, and he can set Isabel up with a nice pay check when he dies out there.

The drill sergeant looks at him. "I don't expect you to make a decision now–" he begins, but Bucky nods his head.

"I'll do it," Bucky says, though his voice wavers. "I'd be very grateful for the opportunity, sir."

"Great. Report to my office at fourteen-hundred hours. I'll give you the information pack."

The drill sergeant turns away to instruct another group, leaving Bucky standing with his rifle in hand. And that's how Bucky manages to ship out as a Sergeant even though it's only his first tour.

* * *

That night, Bucky writes a letter to Steve. It's his first letter home, he realises, and Steve's eventual reply may possibly be his first from home. He sits on his bed by the light of the bedside lamp, Robinson on his right already snoring and Crawley reading one of Bucky's novels he brought.

 _Steve –_

 _Just wanted to write you to let you know that everything is well. Basic is a drag. I feel like I haven't slept since the day I was born and like I've never sat down my entire life, my feet hurt so bad. They started bleeding in my shoes the fourth day but it's cleared up now. They're just all calloused, and I wore an extra pair of socks._

 _The days are long and hard and painful, just the sick sort of shit your stupid ass would probably love. I'm glad you aren't here though. You'd have passed out from an asthma attack the first time they made you do the perimeter walk. Twelve miles all the way around with twenty pounds of pack on your back, plus your uniform. It ain't for the faint hearted._

 _I actually got given an opportunity today. We were shooting targets and I made ten for ten first shot, just like that day at Coney Island. The sergeant saw my work and he asked if I'd join the MOS. He convinced me, and I said yes, and now here I am._

" _You'll be a Sergeant. You could lead a platoon. Fight the enemy," he told me. At first I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the guy said, "You get paid fifty bucks more a month," and that made it one hundred bucks, and I couldn't turn down that kind of money, not when I knew how helpful it'd be at home. I'm doing these things but not for medals or accolades. I guess I'm doing them because they have to be done. I'd appreciate it if you could tell my family for me. Sounds a little impersonal for it to come from a letter. You have no idea how hard it is to write to you when all I can think about is tactics and the inner-workings of a Thompson._

 _How's everything going at home? Still making good on my promise?_

 _I'll see you in a couple of weeks. Do try not to get punched._

 _Bucky._

* * *

 **Tomah, Wisconsin**

 **July 1st** **, 1942**

"Alright, ladies, get to attention!" A voice bellows. The men immediately straighten, standing tall with their designated rifles in hand as the Captain makes his presence aware, stepping into view in front of the straight line of future troops. They're all standing in a line, awaiting the weekly check-up of their uniform and equipment that the Captain requests, looking for ways to fault them. It's not their first check, having been at the camp for a number of weeks, so they all know the drill.

Bucky watches the tall brunette walk toward them, and makes sure he stands a little taller. Captain Cramer has made a name for himself within the camp, the privates who have been at Camp McCoy for a number of weeks letting the newer recruits know about his reputation for being a strict disciplinarian that trains his company harder and longer than the commanders of other companies. Cramer slowly walks down the line, inspecting his men with a critical eye, his face laced with a frown.

Cramer stops in front of a shorter man, who loads his rifle for inspection of its cleaning. Cramer ignores the gun, looking down at the Private's pants. "Private, did you blouse your trousers like a paratrooper?" He asks.

"No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom."

The Private gulps, not even bothering to look down at his pants. "No excuse, sir."

Cramer glares, before looking out at his other troops, addressing them all. "Volunteering is one thing. Being drafted, another altogether. You all have a long way to go to prove you belong here." He looks back to the Private in front of him, an evil eye. "Your weekend pass is revoked."

Cramer walks down the line again, his eyes set on the next soldier in line. "Name."

"Lore, George," the Private answers, as Cramer takes his rifle from his hands.

He takes a second to inspect it, checking all of its working components. "Dirt in the rear sight aperture. Pass revoked," he says, monotone, throwing the gun back into Lore's hands.

He walks up and down the line again, passing Bucky, who keeps his eyes staring straight ahead. Cramer stops in front of him, looking him up and down rather intimidatingly. Bucky holds out his rifle and bayonet for the Captain to assess. Cramer takes them and checks every nook and cranny, then removes the bayonet from its sheath. "Not bad. Name?"

"Private Barnes, sir."

"Hmm. Not bad for a private."

"Thank you, sir," Bucky replies, taking back his rifle and putting his bayonet back in his pocket.

"Barnes, that name's familiar. You're the one getting promoted to Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. That's me."

"When the forms are approved, you let me know. I could use a hand with the troops, and you look like just the type. You set a good example, Barnes. Keep it up." Cramer nods his approval and moves on. Bucky's grateful he actually wore his uniform correctly today.

"When did you sew on this chevron, Sergeant Fairview?" Cramer asks the next Sergeant down the line, picking at the insignia on the man's upper arm.

"Yesterday, sir."

"Long enough ago to notice this," Cramer says, tearing off a stray piece of thread from the sewing. "Revoked."

Cramer makes his way to the next soldier in line, who hurriedly throws his rifle around for inspection. "Private Bilge," Cramer greets, recognising the private. "Isn't 'bilge' slang for bullshit?"

"Yes, sir," Bilge answers, looking embarrassed.

Cramer takes the rifle and examines it, shoving it back into the soldier's hands in record time. "Ruse on the butt plate hinge spring, Private Bullshit. And a rusty bayonet. Revoked."

"You all want to kill Germans?" Cramer asks, walking toward the front of the group, taking the bayonet with him. The soldiers nod quietly. "Not with this," Cramer continues, holding up the rusty bayonet in his hand. "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war. And I won't take you if you stay in this position. Thanks to these men and their infractions, everyone one of you who had a weekend pass has lost it." The men stifle their groans, remaining respectful to their superior officer. "Now, change into your exercising gear. We're running the perimeter."

* * *

"On the road in PT formation! Let's move, let's go!" Cramer yells to the men, starting them on their daily run through the forests around the camp perimeter. The track is over hard terrain, rocky and hilly and hard on the legs.

The men start running, keeping an easy jog with their footsteps pounding the gravel in a melodic beat. Bucky listens to the gravel crunch under their feet, the sound of his breath, the jingle of his dog tags, and ignores the pain that starts up in his legs and the tightening of his chest. His pack is heavy on his back, pulling painfully on his shoulders. He adjusts the straps and keeps going.

"While you fellas run, I'm gonna take your dames to the movies," Cramer is telling them, running between the men easily and prodding them to keep going, insulting them with cruel statements. As the men get angrier, they perform better, wanting to show up their cocky Captain.

"Good, they need some more female company," Bucky hears a man behind him grit out, breathing hard through his mouth. He tries hard not to laugh.

They make it to the half-way point around the perimeter, running alongside the towering wall of the South Post of Camp McCoy. On their first day tour they'd been informed they weren't permitted to venture into the south of the camp, and that if they did so, they'd be eligible to receive disciplinary action. They hadn't been told what was over the fence, and they'd been warned not to ask. Not everyone, though, has been known to follow the rules.

"Permission to speak, Captain Cramer?" Private Andrews pants from the middle of the pack.

Cramer slows and looks over his shoulder, falling into line beside the dragging man. "What is it, Private Andrews? You getting tired, gonna pass out? There's an ambulance waiting for my call to take you to the hospital, you look like you need it."

"It isn't that, sir. I was curious as to what's behind the wall, sir."

"That's confidential, Private. Become something other than a lowly private and then you might be told," Cramer hisses, moving to the front of the line again.

"I heard rumours it's a detention centre," Andrews calls out, rather disrespectfully, earning a glare from Captain Cramer. Bucky thinks the Captain might even come back and punch him.

Instead, Cramer sighs in frustration, giving in to the questioning rather quickly. "If you all must know," Cramer says carefully. "I can only tell you so much. It _is_ a detention centre. It houses Japanese-American, German-American and Italian-American civilians from around the country who have been arrested as potentially dangerous "enemy aliens". They also house Japanese and German prisoners-of-war in another area. While I don't agree with it, rest assured that they are residing in conditions not unlike yourselves. There's no need to worry about them. They're safe, well-fed and well looked after."

"But, sir–"

"I don't want to hear any more questions and I won't answer them anyway. I've already told you more than I was authorized to. If I hear you talking about it, to anyone, there will be extreme punishment. I can have any one of you sent out into battle tomorrow if I wanted. And if any of you even think of scaling the wall to catch a glimpse, I'll see to it you'll never see anything again. Understood?"

There are a chorus of respectful affirmatives from the soldiers, who look warily at the wall to their right. The wall is thick enough that they can't even hear any signs of life coming from inside. The men continue to follow Cramer, not once slowing their pace even during the conversation, their minds now on an issue far worse than their own and far closer than they'd ever imagined.

Cramer senses their distraction, and pulls his men back into the present, starting up the overly optimistic chant they'd all learnt their first day that seems awfully underwhelming compared to the horrors they fear are happening over the wall.

"Where do we run?" Cramer starts up the chant.

"Camp McCoy!"

"How far around?"

"Twenty miles around!"

"What company is this?"

"The one-oh-seventh!"

"Why do we run?"

"To stand alone!"

* * *

 **Tomah, Wisconsin**

 **July 18th** **, 1942**

When Bucky finally gets back to his dorm after a long day of running and exercising and participating in drills, he's utterly exhausted. He practically falls into bed, not even bothering to remove all of his uniform. He lays there for a moment, eyes closed, before he remembers the letter he got this morning in mail call that he'd shoved into his pocket to read later. He leans down the bed to his trunk and slips the letter out of his pants pocket, sitting back against the headboard to open it.

It's from Isabel, the first letter from home he's gotten since he arrived at Camp McCoy nearly four weeks ago. He sent the letter to Steve almost three weeks ago informing him he'd be gone for longer. The rush of love he feels in his chest is almost embarrassing and he has to almost choke down tears at how much he misses home. Sure, basic isn't terrible, but nothing beats the comfort of your own bed, and a safe apartment surrounded by friends and family. He misses the monotonous familiarity of his normal life. Hopefully, Isabel's insight can give him some insight into life back in Brooklyn. He hopes he'll be able to imagine it in his mind.

 _Bucky,_

 _Steve told us the news that you'll be gone for up to sixteen weeks for basic training. Even though it means you'll be gone longer, it seems like a great opportunity, and at least the pay will be nice. Is there a reason why you were promoted? I don't mean to seem clingy, but that feels like an awful long time. I hate to think what it'll be like if you go away for real. It's only been four weeks but it feels like eternity. Work is slow and the days feel long._

 _It sounds so clique, but time really does drag. Ma is barely coping without you. Dad just rolls his eyes and tells her to stop worrying, that you'll be fine. When she doubts him, he casually reminds her he did serve in the Great War. You know how these things go._

 _Anyway, everyone says hello and hopes you are well. We all can't wait until you're home again. The apartment feels awfully bare without you, despite the fact that it's still full. Steve's come over to spend some time with us a few times so far. He'll never admit it, but I think he's lonely without you here. Sarah's at work a lot of the time, so he's home alone often. I'm going over to his apartment tomorrow while he paints. It won't be overly exciting, but I know he'll appreciate the company, and maybe some help with the colors. It's for a commissioned piece that came through over the weekend of someone's dog or something. I'm not entirely sure._

Bucky feels relief course through him that Steve is finally getting some commission work, even if it is only one piece. The money he makes from painting means he doesn't have to do the paper run in the mornings, which is dangerous enough without adding his chronic asthma into the equation. Plus, Steve loves painting, and if he's doing the things he loves, he'll be happier and preoccupied while Bucky's gone.

 _I'm not sure if I should really tell you, but I have some news of my own. No one knows yet but I need to get it off my chest and you're usually the person I confide in with my problems. Not that this is a problem, as such, but…well, I'm not entirely sure._

Bucky frowns worryingly at her bumbling statements. It's not like Isabel to be so unsure of things; generally, she knows what she wants and she goes for it.

 _Do you remember at that Christmas dinner when mom mentioned her friend's son, Danny, how he was interested in meeting me? Well I did meet him, a few months ago now. I didn't tell you then because I wasn't sure what would come of it, but he seems really lovely. I know you'll worry about how he'll treat me, but we got along rather well, he treated me very good. He was to your standards, don't worry. When he asked me if we could do it again sometime, I didn't really know what to say, so I said yes. We've been out again eight times since then, and I'm rather fond of him, even though I've only known him a few months. I think he may ask me to go steady with him the next time we meet, he was dropping an awful number of hints. I don't know. Just thought I'd get it off my chest, though it didn't really clear any of my thoughts. Ha ha._

Bucky has to stop reading for a moment, holding the bridge of his nose in frustration. All these months of him trying to get his sister and friend to see that they have feelings for each other, and his mother manages to ruin it in one conversation with her friend at the grocery store. He wishes he could get them together and force it all out of them, but he's still got a doubt playing on his mind that he's imagining it all. He thinks, maybe, that he only wants the best for his sister, and that Steve is probably the only person in the world good enough to warrant being with Isabel. He may be biased, but perhaps that's why he sees what he does. Perhaps he picks up on insignificant looks and conversations and makes them into something more than they truly are because that's what he wants to see, not what Steve and Isabel want. Like his sister, he really doesn't know. What he does know, is that sometimes he wishes he could turn his brain off.

 _Anyway, enough about us, I want to hear about you. What's basic like so far? Have you made any friends? I know you can't say too much because of censorship, but I'd like to hear as much as you can tell. Stay safe, and try to have a good time, or at least as best as you can._

 _Lots of love, Isabel_

 _P.S.: After I wrote this, Becca saw me sealing the envelope and insisted on sending something to you from her. We took this picture today when she got home from school. She wanted you to see the drawing she did in art class. It's of a butterfly if you can't tell._

Then, below Isabel's elegant handwriting is the scrawled text of a ten-year-old. He can just imagine Becca writing it with the ink pen, pushing a little too hard on the paper and leaving ink blotches in random places along the words. He squints to make out the words, a smile lighting up his face.

 _Bucky,_ it reads, _I drew this butterfly for you in art class I thought you could put it on the wall above your bed or maybe carry it in your pocket just a thought. I hope you are safe and having fun shooting guns Please come home soon! I love you. xxx_

Bucky smiles, chuckling at her horrible punctuation and the mental image of Isabel cringing at it before putting it in the envelope. He holds the letter to his chest soppily. He can only imagine what he looks like to the other troops, their new Sergeant smiling dopily at a letter from home. But when he looks around, most of them are reading their own letters from home, or smiling down at an image of a girlfriend or a wife or a family, and suddenly he doesn't feel so bad. These kind of feelings, of loneliness and homesickness, actually unite the troops together, tied to each other by a string of common emotions. The brotherhood they'll form over the coming weeks, and later on when they make it into the fight, will be a crucial ingredient to their survival. Without that mate-ship, they'd probably go mad.

Bucky searches around in the drawers of one of the dorm's desks, finding a roll of tape in the third drawer. He carefully tapes the butterfly to the wall behind his bed, not once feeling any embarrassment for having the crayon picture on his person. Robinson, on Bucky's right, looks up at Bucky's movements, watching him tape it to the wallpaper. He looks at the picture, then smiles at Bucky kindly.

"Cute," is all he says, before he goes back to reading his own book.

Bucky lays back down in bed, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the now upside-down picture. He wonders why Becca chose to draw a butterfly. Perhaps she's symbolizing the changes he'll go through in the next few weeks, his emergence as a drilled and sturdy Sergeant, a noticeable contrast from the man he was when he left Brooklyn. Maybe he's emerging from his cocoon, finding out who he's meant to be. Or maybe, Becca just likes butterflies. After all, she's only ten. How incisive could she possibly be?

Bucky sighs. He really does think too much.

On the wall across from Bucky, the clock strikes over to ten at night. "Alright, lights out fellas," Bucky says, as he's now the highest-ranking officer in the dorm. There's a few mumbles of acceptance, and the rattle of beds as the men clamber in and settle down for the night. Once everyone is tucked up in bed, Bucky turns off his own bedside lamp, throwing the dorm into darkness.

* * *

A/N: So here we have the longest chapter so far, though I have many other chapters written out that are much longer! I have most of this story already written out, therefore the updates will be very regular.

It was so exciting to introduce Bucky's first experience with combat training, his advancement to Sergeant, and life within the Camp McCoy barracks. Just a bit of history: Camp McCoy, now called Fort McCoy, was an actual army training center in Wiconsin with a very long history since its opening in 1909. The camp had a capacity of housing 35,000 soldiers during World War II. It was used as a training facility for units across the entire country preparing them for entering combat. As mentioned in this chapter, it was also used as a detention centre for approximately 170 Japanese and 120 German and Italian-American civilians who were arrested as "enemy allies" in March 1942. It was also used as a prisoner-of-war (POW) camp during conflict, holding 4,000 Japanese and German prisoners-of-war. The POWs are featured in the 2011 film _Fort McCoy._ I'd recommend checking it out if you want to know more :)


	8. Chapter 7

**7.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **July 1** **st** **, 1942**

Steve drags his feet on the way back to his apartment. His ego is crushed once again, his dreams rejected, and to top it all off, the skin over his cheekbone was broken by an unfortunate impact with someone's fist, splitting the skin and leaking blood down the side of his face and onto his newest white shirt.

The climb up the stairs is a struggle today because Steve's lungs aren't climatizing well to the July heat, and he has to pause when the door to his apartment is just in sight and mentally prepare himself for the last six steps. He makes it, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him. He fishes his keys out of his pants pocket, and opens the front door. Once inside, he kicks off his shoes by the front door and turns, expecting to see his mother sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. He's surprised when he sees his mother and Isabel, both of them talking over a cup of coffee each.

"Hi," Steve says lamely, waving awkwardly at the ladies. He forgets that he has blood smeared all over his face until they both gasp and usher him into a chair.

"What did you do now?" Isabel asks by way of greeting, examining the cut with critical eyes.

"Who did you fight?" Sarah accuses, taking a wet cloth to the cut to dab away the drying blood.

"I didn't start this one," Steve says defensively, allowing himself to catch his breath while the women clean up the cut. It really isn't bad, compared to some injuries Steve's been dealt in the past. "Some guy asked me if the army was letting twelve-year-old's in now."

Isabel pauses, her eyebrows creasing in concern and confusion. "Wait, you're still intent on joining the army?" She asks quietly.

Steve's eyes widen, remembering his promise to Bucky that he wouldn't tell Isabel that he was trying to enlist. Sarah knows, of course, because he'd explained to her his reasons for wanting to go and she'd understood, and at this moment hardly looks surprised by this piece of information.

"Yes?" Steve replies, more of a question. "Well, I tried. I got given a 4F."

"Oh," Isabel says, looking away from Steve. The news that Steve was rejected doesn't seem to do anything to help her frazzled nerves. She'd known Steve wanted to go, but always thought he wouldn't bother to try enlisting to avoid the embarrassment of being turned away. She should have known better though. And, as she thinks back, she realizes that Bucky has never let her in on this piece of information either. He'd warned her it may happen eventually, but she'd thought Bucky would shut down Steve's ideas. Perhaps Bucky's departure to basic had been Steve's opportunity. "Was this the first time you tried to enlist?"

Steve's blushing cheeks and avoidance of Isabel's eyes tells her all she needs to know. The blonde has never been able to lie.

"How do you even attempt to enlist multiple times?" Isabel asks.

"You change your place of birth," Steve mumbles quietly, not meeting Isabel's gaze.

Isabel's mouth falls open. "That- Steve, that's illegal! You can't lie on your enlistment forms! You could get in so much trouble, you could go to jail. Do you want to end up in the crowbar hotel?"

"I know, I know," Steve says. "But it's a risk I'll take if I get what I want."

Isabel's look of shock turns to anger and confusion, her eyes turning icy. "Does Bucky know you've tried multiple times?"

Steve looks away, his cheeks heating up. Isabel narrows her eyes even more. Sarah looks worriedly between Steve and Isabel, seeming to grasp that Isabel wasn't fully aware of her son's ambition.

"Why didn't you just ignore this person if they were taunting you?" Sarah berates Steve, trying to change the topic and resolve the awkward silence in the room.

"I shouldn't have to ignore him. I've got just as much right to fight as he does!" Steve argues, getting himself riled up within seconds.

"And I bet you told him that," Isabel murmurs sourly with a judgemental eyebrow raise.

"I did," Steve says matter-of-factly, sitting a little straighter in his chair. "Then he took me round back and told me to show him how I'd punch out those Kraut fuc-…Krauts," Steve corrects himself. "And when I got ready to fight back, he beat the crap out of me. The recruitment Sergeant heard the ruckus and came out and stopped it."

"Bucky's going to kill you. He's been gone not even two weeks and you've already gotten yourself beat up," Isabel berates, finishing up by putting a band aid over Steve's cheekbone. Her fingers are a little less gentle than normal as she slaps the band aid on, making Steve wince away from her.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve argues. Isabel hums in agreement, humouring Steve the way she knows Steve hates, but her and Bucky do it anyway.

* * *

Isabel goes home after finishing with her catch-up with Sarah, and that evening after dinner when she has retired to the sanctuary of her bedroom, she writes a strongly worded letter to Bucky. She sends the envelope off with the postman the next morning, knowing she may regret some of the things she's said but not finding the will to care.

* * *

 **Tomah, Wisconsin**

 **July 20th** **, 1942**

Bucky receives the letter a few days after the last in the mail call. The drill sergeant stands on a crate at the front of the large crowd of training soldiers, shouting out names and handing over letters and packages.

"Bucky? What kind of a name is that?" The drill sergeant mumbles, frowning down at a letter in his hands. "Barnes," the drill sergeant bellows a little louder, and Bucky scurries up to him to take the letter from his hands. Bucky gets an odd look from the man.

"Bucky, that's me," he laughs, shaking the letter in thanks.

He waits until he's back at his dorm to open the letter, sitting back on his bed to hide it from the others he shares the dorm with. He knows it's from Isabel right away, recognising her handwriting on the front with his name and address, but her writing is untidy and scrawled, almost angry, and Bucky finds himself gulping before he even begins to read.

 _Bucky,_ she writes.

 _I found out some rather interesting news today when I was having tea at Sarah's. Steve came back from a recruitment center sporting a split cheek and a rejection notice. Did you know that he tried to enlist for the army? He was rejected, unfortunately for him. I assume you knew, though, since you boys probably know each other better than the backs of your own eyelids. I assume you also know that this was not his first attempt and is planning to continually lie on his enlistment forms until he is accepted or jailed and won't settle for anything in between?_

 _Would you like to enlighten me on why you didn't inform me that Steve was going to enlist? Did you force him not to tell me? You told me that he was interested, yes, but not that he would actually attempt anything. What if he'd been accepted! Did you even try to talk him out of it?! I know that Steve's an adult and can make his own decisions, but he's got the self-preservation of a snowball in hell. Besides, I'm not a child either, I can handle things better than you probably think._

 _You told me he would get over it, but he certainly hasn't. If he gets in, so help me God, you better look after him. Lord knows we've already got our hands full with him in Brooklyn._

 _Other than all that Steve-related drama, all is fine here. I'd tell you about what's been going on, but I'm angry at you for lying to me, so you can live in wonder. All I will say, is that Brooklyn really isn't the same without you, and I can't wait for you to get home. Be careful, don't shoot yourself in the foot._

 _I only like you right now, Isabel._

As Bucky finishes up reading the letter, he hears a high-pitched whistle come from right beside his ear. He jumps at the sound, whipping his head around and coming eye-to-eye with Private Crawley, who has managed to sneak up beside him and get a glimpse of the letter. "Someone's in trouble with the missus," he singsongs.

"She ain't my missus, she's my sister," Bucky informs him, pushing the Private away from him. Crawley sprawls off where he was perched on the edge of Bucky's cot and lands ungracefully on his own bed beside Bucky's "It'd pay for you to keep your nose out of other people's business, Private. Especially your commanding officers."

"Yes, Serge," Crawley replies dutifully, but his smirk says the message wasn't clear. Bucky's made the unfortunate name for himself as being a slight soft touch, the men knowing that Bucky would rather be a friend than a superior. He knows he'll have to rectify this if he wants to stand any chance at being shown any respect in the field.

"Serge ain't got a missus, Crawley, he already told us that," Robinson berates Crawley with a sigh, reading his own letter from home on his cot to Bucky's left.

"He's got a sister, though," Crawley smirks. "What's she look like? She like redheads?" He asks, pointing to his freshly shaved hair that sparkles red in the sunlight.

"I dunno if she likes redheads, but she's definitely got standards so she isn't gonna look at your ass," Bucky replies, tucking the letter away safely in his trunk. He'll reply later when the other men aren't snooping around. He's definitely got a bit of explaining to do to Isabel.

"How do you know? She got a boyfriend or something?"

"That isn't your business. It'd do you well too, Private, not to speak so boldly of my family again," Bucky warns, though his voice remains slightly playful, unable to keep the amusement from his tone.

"Oh, harsh Serge," Crawley says, but he isn't hurt, his smile still plastered on his face beneath his freckled cheeks. "It's alright. I'll just have to search somewhere else for a gal."

"Good luck," Robinson tells him. "You'll have to beat Serge to that. When he gets back to Brooklyn showing off his insignia all the girls are gonna go stir crazy for him. He'll be drawing smooch dates in from all over the country, and God forbid how many European girls are going to want a piece of Yankee ass once we get overseas. We'll all be up to our eyelids, but you'll have to beat Serge to it."

"Shouldn't be too much of a challenge," Crawley says confidently. Robinson just scoffs, muttering something about Crawley continuing to tell himself that, before making his way back out of the dorms toward the mess hall.

"Just a hint," Bucky says on his way out the door. "No one's better with women than me." With that, he throws a sloppy salute to Crawley and makes his way to get his own dinner.


	9. Chapter 8

**8.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **July 4** **th** **, 1942**

The day of Steve's birthday, which also happens to coincide with Independence Day, Sarah is rostered on to work the night shift, whilst Isabel works the morning shift. Steve knew this as of the night before, when Isabel called him to invite him over in the afternoon. When he wakes up later than usual on July fourth, he takes a moment to lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's his first birthday in twelve years that Bucky isn't here to celebrate with him, and he isn't quite sure how he feels about it yet. He can't imagine watching the fireworks without Bucky. He doesn't even remember a year that they hadn't watched them together. In his memory, every birthday has been spent with Bucky, and in turn, Isabel. At least Isabel will be a constant, though he has to wait quite a few hours to see her. It just doesn't feel right to imagine himself watching them without the other boy sitting there too, trying to persuade Steve that the fireworks are put up there just for him and not for the country, and describing the bright colors to Steve as best he can.

Without warning, he feels his throat get tight, his eyes beginning to sting. He blinks rapidly, berating himself for being so emotional. He thinks what hurts the most is that Bucky is experiencing the one thing he longs for. Bucky is training to be a soldier, to go overseas and fight for what's right, to help bring down the enemy. He knows Bucky didn't want to go, that he would've given everything to stay in Brooklyn, and in that regard, he feels terrible for his friend. He just also can't help the jealousy he feels deep inside himself, that Bucky is living _his_ dream. And he hates himself for it. He wishes that he, to make up for the sour thoughts, could march himself to Camp McCoy and bring Bucky home. He's sure Winifred or George would even drive him there, but he can't, and they can't. They're all helpless.

He starts when there's a knock at his bedroom door, and Sarah peeks her head in. "Happy birthday, Stevie," she singsongs, coming into the room. Steve sits up against the headboard, smiling at his mother.

"Thanks, Ma."

"Twenty-four, I can't believe it," Sarah gushes, sitting next to Steve on the edge of the bed. _Who woulda thought I'd make it? There were lots of times I nearly didn't_ , Steve thinks. "It feels like only yesterday you were a baby tottering around the apartment. The first day you started walking on your own you stole a fresh-baked cookie from the kitchen table and tipped the entire plateful onto the floor. I should have known you'd be trouble from day one."

"Your memory must be failing you, I never get into trouble," Steve tells her cheekily.

"Ha ha, I may be getting older but I'm not senile," Sarah deadpans, plenty aware that her child is troublesome and headstrong, and loving him for it nonetheless. "Come open your present."

Steve gets out of bed and changes into shorts and a shirt before going out into the kitchen. There's a small gift wrapped and sitting on the dining table, a small bow glued to the top.

"Ma, you really didn't have to get me anything," Steve protests while he carefully unpicks the sticky tape, unwrapping it carefully so that the paper can be recycled.

"Nonsense," Sarah argues, watching intently. Saving wrapping paper may make opening presents rather time-consuming, but it also saves a lot of money in desperate times. Steve gasps when he finally reveals the present, the coloured pencils he'd been hoping for but couldn't justify spending the money on for himself.

"Ma, these are amazing," Steve gushes, turning over the metal box to read the back. "Thank you." He walks around the table and hugs Sarah tightly, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"An artist can't produce great works without great tools. Though, knowing how talented you are, you could probably make a masterpiece out of eraser scraps. You deserve them," Sarah tells him. "Now, I know you'll be dying to try them out, but we have a cake to bake first. Then, you can try them out to your heart's content."

They start on baking the cake, a tradition they've held since Steve's childhood that they aren't going to give up now that Steve's twenty-four. It's not even so much the age thing, as it's a reason to eat cake for lunch, and Steve doesn't know who in their right mind would turn down an opportunity like that. Once the cake is baked and hastily decorated with sickly sweet icing and the number '24' in little chocolate drops, they sit at the kitchen table with a slice each, Steve practising using the new set of coloured pencils Sarah bought him. They work like a dream, sliding across the paper in vibrant colours, not that Steve can see them properly, but he can still appreciate them. He uses a light grey to sketch out a rough drawing of his mother smiling down at her slice of cake, adding some colours to it with help from Sarah, eventually ending up with another portrait, one of the first he's ever done in colour pencil since they're so much more expensive than graphite.

"Lemme see," Sarah demands, holding out a hand for the sketchbook. Steve hands it over.

"It's not great, I didn't get the shape of your eyes right," Steve insists, deciding to cut himself another slice of cake.

Sarah surveys the drawing carefully, a critical eye. "No, it's perfect. It looks just like me. Steve, I wish you could see just how talented you really are. You have no idea what some people would give to be able to capture someone like this."

Steve blushes, muttering his thanks. He's never been good with taking compliments. Sarah smiles knowingly as she hands the sketchbook back and goes to her room to get ready for work, emerging a few minutes later in her nurse's uniform. She looks at Steve for a moment before kissing his cheek.

"You only have to be here alone for an hour or two before you were invited over to the Barnes'. You'll be fine," Sarah promises, patting Steve's cheek. Steve stares dumbly at Sarah, wondering how she would have known his internal feelings, his aversion to being alone. She smiles at him knowingly before leaving through the front door.

The days have dragged on since Bucky left for basic, and Steve had to resist putting the date of his return on the calendar in the kitchen and counting it down. He knows that would be weird, so instead he just peeks at the Barnes' calendar to see how many days are left. He knows he's pathetic. He never realised how dependent he was on Bucky and his company until they were apart. Ever since they became friends, they've rarely spent more than a few days away from each other. Every important event in Steve's life has happened with Bucky at his side. They've always watched each other's backs, though admittedly Bucky does most of the watching. They are each other's family as well as friends. Even when Steve was sick enough to get the priest out to his house, Bucky never refrained from stopping by to see him, despite any personal risk of infection. Bucky truly is the best friend, and more like a brother to Steve, and Steve doesn't know how he's going to cope without him.

Steve sits impatiently on the sofa, waiting for the call from Isabel. She promised to call when she was home from work and ready for him to come over, which she said would be around four. He twiddles his thumbs for a while, eventually getting his sketchbook out again. He continues working on the piece of Sarah, carefully reading the colour labels on each pencil so he doesn't accidentally make her hair blue or something. He adjusts her eyes until he's happy and works on her golden locks, the picture finally coming along until he eventually deems it finished. He looks at the clock, sighing when he still has two hours to waste.

He goes to his room and searches around for something to occupy the time, his eyes falling on the unfinished drawing of the Barnes family that Winifred commissioned. He's already bought the frame for it, and it's very near finishing, only needing a few touch ups and for him to finish Isabel and Bucky's hair. He picks it up carefully and brings it out to the kitchen, lying it flat on the table. Getting out his graphite pencils, Steve works on the piece, finishing everyone's hair and adding extra highlights and details. The picture really is perfect, but he continues to add aspects to make it even better and finds himself in an "artistic coma" as Bucky likes to call it, so entranced by his work that he barely registers the phone ringing.

He jumps up to answer it, nearly missing the call. "Hello."

"Hi, Steve. I just got home from work and got changed so you can head over whenever you're ready," Isabel tells him.

"Okay, sure. Be right there," Steve promises, hanging the phone back on the receiver. He takes another second to look at the piece and thinks it perfected enough to give to the family tonight. Carefully, he puts the drawing in its frame and locks it back up, turning it over. The frame completes the picture, closing the four siblings within its boundaries as though they might try to escape the picture. Whilst Robbie and Becca's drawn selves look incredibly lifelike, there's something extra about the drawings of Isabel and Bucky. Steve supposes it's because he's drawn them so many times; he knows their faces without having to even look at them, and can draw any of their expressions from memory. Some may think it's creepy, but Steve really does just have an eye for drawing.

He finds the bow from his present that morning and attaches it to the wood of the frame. He grabs the plate of cake from the fridge to take, as well as his wallet and keys, holds the picture under his arm, and slams the door shut behind him, intent on getting out of the apartment. The walk to the Barnes' apartment is short but his arms are loaded up, and gratefully, he's there within minutes, climbing the stairs with some difficulty and knocking on the front door. Becca answers almost immediately, and Steve wonders whether she'd been waiting for him.

"Steve!" She cheers, throwing her arms around his waist in a hug, nearly knocking the cake and picture out of his hands. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks, Bec," Steve says, freeing one arm and hugging her back a little awkwardly. "Where's your sister?"

"Isabel is sitting in our room," Becca tells him. "Ooh, is that cake?" She asks, her eyes catching sight of the desert.

"Yep," Steve says. He sets the picture down momentarily and opens the fridge to find space for it. "My ma and I made it today. We can eat it later when the fireworks are on."

"Swell," Becca says, smiling goofily at Steve. "What's this?" She asks, trying to turn over the frame.

"That's the drawing your ma asked for. You can't look at it yet, you have to wait until your parents are home," Steve tells her, picking up the drawing again and holding it protectively against his chest so no one sees it.

Becca seems to accept this excuse, though Steve can tell she's dying inside to see it. "Come on," she says, taking him by his free hand and leading him to her and Isabel's bedroom. As they enter the small hallway, Robbie emerges from the boys' room, comic book in hand.

"Oh, happy birthday, Steve," he says, waving at Steve with the hand holding the comic book, an empty glass in the other.

"Thanks, Robbie. How are you going?" Steve asks.

"Great, we're on school holidays," Robbie tells him. "You're so lucky your birthday is in the school holidays."

"Well, it was. I'm not at school anymore."

"That's right," Robbie agrees, abandoning whatever he was going to the kitchen for and following Steve and Becca into the bedroom.

"Hello, Isabel," Steve says politely from the doorway, whilst Becca and Robbie waltz straight into the room and plop down on Becca's bed. Isabel looks up from where she sits on her bed, a thick book in her lap acting like a desk as she writes a letter, presumably to Bucky.

"Stevie!" She says when she sees him. She abandons her work momentarily, coming over to stand in front of him. "What's this?"

"The commission for your mom," Steve answers. "I need to hide it until they get home."

"Easy done," Isabel says, taking it without looking at the image and leaning it against the far wall, the portrait facing the wall to conceal it. Then she turns back to him. "Happy birthday," she finally says, pulling him into a tight hug. Steve hugs back just as tight, thankful that she invited him over. He already feels one hundred times better being in other's company; he can't imagine what the night would've been like had he been home alone. As Isabel pulls away, she kisses his cheek. On the bed behind them, Robbie and Becca giggle with each other, making kissing noises at the two.

"Oh, hush," Isabel tells them, swatting at them to try to get them to shoo. They evade her arms, staying seated. Isabel sits back down, cross legged on the bed. "Come, sit," she tells Steve, patting the quilt in front of her. Steve walks in and sits down. He's never really been in the girls' room before, normally just hanging out with them all in the lounge room, or in Bucky's room and the fire escape when they wanted to talk about guy stuff. Neither Becca nor Isabel seem to have any qualms about him being there though, so he lets himself settle.

"What have you been up to so far, birthday boy?" Isabel asks.

"Nothing much. Ma and I made the cake around lunch, then when she went to work I finished the piece. Is that letter for Bucky?" Steve asks, eyeing the papers she'd been writing on.

"Yes," Isabel says. "You wanna write something to him on here? It'll save money on postage."

"Sure," Steve says, feeling a little guilty that he hasn't written to Bucky in a few days and hasn't replied to the last letter he sent. Isabel shuffles the papers and takes a few out of the bunch, setting them behind her. She hands Steve the textbook to lean on, a pen and a fresh piece of paper.

"What'd you write to him?" Steve asks.

"Mainly, I just replied to his last letter. He asked what we had planned for your birthday today and just about what was happening here. Not much," she says vaguely.

Steve gets to work writing a quick letter to Bucky, trying to remember the things Bucky had said in his last letter. He tells Bucky about finishing the work for Winifred, and about coming over to watch the fireworks tonight. He leaves out the part about being lonely without him here, and also the part about the fight he got into the other day. He does, though, have to tell him about Isabel finding out about him enlisting, since Bucky had mentioned that Isabel sent him an angry letter. He eventually finishes up and gives it back to Isabel, who folds the papers with her own into an envelope and seals it to send tomorrow.

"How old are you, Steve?" Becca asks suddenly, having waited for Steve to finish constructing his letter.

"I'm twenty-four," Steve tells her.

"Oh, so old," Becca says. Curiously, she adds, "What do twenty-four-year old's do?"

"Well, I'm not sure, I only just became one. But I assume it's probably not very exciting. Just work and other adult things."

"That sounds boring," Robbie adds.

"It is," Steve agrees with over-exaggeration, unable to hold his serious composure for long before breaking into laughter.

"Can we watch the fireworks with you guys tonight?" Robbie asks Isabel and Steve. Isabel looks at Steve, waiting for his approval.

"Of course," Steve says, delighted. "We're gonna set up the fire escape with a blanket and pillows. It's got a magnificent view. And we'll eat some cake. It'll be fun."

* * *

Winifred and George return from their outings at dinner time, just in time to eat a serving of the meal Isabel and Steve throw together. Steve joins them at the table after a chorus of "happy birthdays", the family talking happily over their food. Still, despite the happy ambience, none of them can shake the feeling that something, or rather someone, is missing. Sunset takes a long time to come, so the group sit around the lounge room, listening to the radio in the corner and making small talk.

Steve seems to forget about the picture until Isabel leans across to him on the couch. "Are you gonna give Mom her present?" She whispers in his good ear.

"Oh yeah," Steve laughs, getting up and going into the girls' room to retrieve it. No one bats an eyelid at his disappearance until he returns with the rather large frame.

"I finished the piece you asked for, Fred," Steve explains, not turning the picture around yet.

Winifred puts her book down, surprised, and stands up. "Steve, honey, it's your birthday. You aren't supposed to be giving out the gifts."

"We did pay for it," George jokes, smiling fondly at Steve.

Steve hesitates. It's one of the first times he's done a commissioned piece for someone so close to him, and he feels nervousness swim in his stomach. "I hope you like it." He slowly turns the image around, and everyone gasps when they see it.

"Wow," Winifred breathes, taking the picture from Steve to look at it more closely. "It's so beautiful," she gushes, her eyes filling with tears. George stands beside her, letting out a low whistle of admiration. Isabel looks too, smiling proudly at Steve.

"Amazing," she says. "As always, of course."

Robbie and Becca take their time to look too, gushing over themselves in the portrait. Meanwhile, Winifred gives Steve a motherly hug. "I don't know how you do it, Steve, but you do it well. I can't even tell you how grateful I am. George, honey, can you hang it up?"

George obediently takes the frame and places it on the hook that's already in the wall, taking a minute to adjust it so its straight. "Perfect," he finally says, stepping back to admire it. It seems to fit perfectly into the apartment, a soft, familiar touch to the already homely space. A portrait of family, done by family.

"I love it," Isabel says from beside Steve. She then nudges his shoulder with her own. "How do you always manage to make me look better in drawings than I do in real life?"

"I don't," Steve says sincerely. "That is you, through and through." Isabel's cheeks redden, her smile enough thanks that she doesn't have to say anything else.

* * *

They have to go through Bucky and Robbie's room to reach the fire escape, since the window in the girls' room is broken and won't open enough to allow anyone to squeeze out. They wait until the sun has fully set and darkness has set in over the city before they clamber out. Isabel goes first, kneeling in the corner to set up a quilt on the metal grate and lean some pillows up against the wall to lean on. After a few minutes of sitting it always gets uncomfortable, so they'd innovated by setting up a little bed for the last few years. Steve climbs out the window after her, standing carefully on the fire escape. He loves the view from up here, but it's always daunting standing and being able to see the ground so far beneath him. It certainly doesn't help his vertigo.

"It's going to start soon," Steve says, checking the time on his watch. The fireworks are scheduled to begin in ten minutes.

"Alright, it's all set up. We just need the cake," Isabel confirms. Not two seconds later, Becca's small hands reach out the window to hand Steve two plates of cake, followed by Robbie with two more. Steve takes the cake from Becca and sits them carefully on the grate, before helping a struggling Becca climb through the window. Robbie manages easily, springing over the ledge. Steve sits between Isabel and Becca with Robbie on the other end, already devouring his first piece of cake. They take some time to adjust the pillows to get comfortable, finally settling in and picking up their dessert.

"This is good," Isabel tells Steve after swallowing her first mouthful, her fork already filled with more.

"Good. We'd better have mastered the recipe by now after making it for twenty-four years."

With the plates cleared and bellies full, Robbie puts the plates to the side.

"Before the fireworks start, I want to give you your present," Isabel says, pulling an envelope out of the pocket of her dress.

"Belle, we agreed no presents," Steve protests.

"Yeah, yeah. Like you and Bucky have ever followed that rule when we set it," Isabel retaliates, handing over the envelope. "It's from both me and Bucky. We were hoping Buck would be here as well to see you open it, but, you know. So anyway, here." Steve opens the envelope, pulling out a piece of paper.

 _Stage 2 Visual Art course at the Brooklyn Community Hall, Brooklyn, New York._

 _Week 1 class: Graphite drawing,_

 _Week 2 class: Acrylic paints,_

 _Week 3 class: Photography,_

 _Week 4 class: Pottery,_

 _Week 5 class: Pastels,_

 _Classes beginning August 1_ _st_ _, 7pm_

Steve stops reading then, looking up in astoundment at Isabel. "You bought me tickets to the art class?"

"Yep," Isabel smiles. "You completed stage one, and then never returned to stage two because you don't want to spend the money on yourself. Your art is great Steve, and we want you to have something you're going to love and that's going to help you. I went to the hall and I spoke to the art teacher – she remembered you, so that's a good sign. She told me that this course is a little different. You can only get in if you did well in stage one, which you did, and every week they have a popular artist who works with that medium come in to give advice. It's an amazing opportunity, and we didn't want you to miss out."

"I don't even know what to say," Steve says dumbly. "Thank you!"

"No problem," Isabel says, accepting his hug.

They jump apart when the first firework explodes in the sky, lighting up the black with colour and producing a deafening bang.

Steve settles back against the pillows, watching the fireworks light up the sky, then trickle back down like sparkles, only to fizzle out into black. They're awfully loud, but they're beautiful, magnificent rays of light. Steve looks over at Becca beside him, her faced awed as she stares open mouthed at the sky. She catches Steve looking and smiles at him, moving closer and burying herself in his side, under his arm. He holds her gently, her body fitting perfectly in the concave of his arm.

He looks to his right and catches Isabel looking at him and her sister fondly.

"What colours are they?" Steve asks Isabel, nodding back toward the sky.

Isabel looks up again too. She leans back against the wall, slipping down and getting comfortable again, and then falls to the side, resting her head on Steve's shoulder. Steve stiffens momentarily, but eventually settles, getting up the courage to slip his arm out from under her and rest it across her shoulders. He never in his life expected they'd ever sit this close, and he's so glad he hasn't messed it up yet.

"That one was a yellow-gold, so vibrant and beautiful. Like daffodils in the spring time. Ah, red. A real bright, fiery red. Anyone who has hair that colour, you'd know they aren't to be messed with. Also the colour of firetrucks. Oh, that one was like an emerald green, like being in a mossy forest in winter when the forest floor is still damp and the leaves are so healthy and green from all the rain," Isabel commentates, taking cues from the way Bucky always describes the colour to Steve.

Steve listens and watches, imagining the colours in the circumstance Isabel describes. He's still distracted by her, though, her hair tickling his chin and her weight pressing into him, but in a good way. She's grounding and familiar, whilst also being strange and frightening. Steve isn't sure if these are the feelings he's supposed to have, and he isn't quite sure what to think of them either, but in that moment, he decides to just go with the flow of it all, two of his best girls tucked safely under each arm.

The fireworks end in a beautiful, extravagant final arrangement, the colours dancing across the sky. The entirety of Brooklyn seems to go up in cheers after the sky returns to black, Becca and Robert clapping along as well.

"It hasn't been so bad, has it?" Isabel asks, lifting her head from Steve's shoulder to meet his eyes.

"No. Not bad at all," Steve reassures her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! So here we have Steve's first birthday without Bucky. Unfortunately it won't be the last; you can thank Marvel for all the sadness over the years to come. I just love the relationship Steve has with Sarah Rogers. I've read a lot of fics that portray them as having a close relationship and I'm all for it. Sarah and Steve only had each other. Sarah has been the only stable aspect of Steve's life since his birth; she's always looked after him, worked to protect them both financially. I love writing strong-willed, independent characters set in a time when women were not always portrayed that way.

Just out of curiosity I was wondering if there were any celebrities that you had in mind that resemble Isabel Barnes and Sarah Rogers? I'd be curious to see who my readers imagine from my descriptions.

I wasn't going to tell you guys since it may skew your own imaginations but I will because I have no self control. Ever since I began this story I couldn't get the image of Emilia Clarke (Khaleesi in Game of Thrones) from my mind when I pictured Isabel. I love her as an actress, I think she's a beautiful soul and she's exactly what I picture. I also did some comparisons of her beside Sebastian Stan and to me they look very similar. I've saved quite a few images of Emilia Clarke in particular vintage settings and some manips with Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans. Obviously none of the pictures are mine, but they are good for inspiration. I also often use her outfits from photoshoots as inspiration for her clothing and hairstyles in this fic. If you'd like to see any, maybe I can make a post on my tumblr? Would love to hear your thoughts!

Enjoy your reading! :)


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: Like any texts regarding a world war, aspects of this story will likely be gruesome and will explore some confronting aspects of human history. This chapter deals with some unfavourable topics, mainly the aftermath of a major battle injury. Just a warning that it will contain blood, gore and other medical procedures in detail.

* * *

 **9.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **July 14** **th** **, 1942**

It seems like any ordinary July day when Isabel shows up for her shift at the hospital. Outside, the birds sing in the trees and a hot wind blows steadily through the streets. Children play in the playground and run along the footpaths, enjoying the freedom of summer break.

However, as soon as Isabel steps into the hospital and makes her way to her rostered ward, she feels the depressing atmosphere of the hospital, and one that generally relates to a terrible injury. It sits heavily in the air and on the faces of the nurses. She looks around carefully as she makes her way to the locker room. Gertrude, the nurse in charge for the shifts, follows her in, using the privacy and silence of the small room to converse.

"Isabel," she greets, closing the door behind her. "Your schedule for today has been altered. You're rostered to care for one of our newest patients, and that man requires extra attention, so I've designated one of your rooms to another nurse," Gertrude tells her as Isabel pins her nurse's cap to her hair. "It's bad, Is. Really bad. And it's going to be tough for you to care for him. If you need a time out, come and find me and I'll get someone to cover you."

Isabel looks confusedly at Gertrude, who leaves the room, stopping at the nurse's station. "This is a hospital, it has its share of bad injuries. What's so unusual about this one?" Isabel asks.

At the desk, Dorothy looks up from her paperwork, her expression one of distress. "Oh, it's terrible. I'm so glad I'm not caring for him. The poor, poor man."

"He's a soldier. Got caught in a landmine his first day in the field. They treated him over in Europe, then sent him back here once he was stable enough, since Brooklyn is home for him. But it doesn't look good. Every day he gets worse, not better."

"A landmine?" Isabel asks. "So, he has some amputated limbs?"

"You could say that," Gertrude replies solemnly, handing her the patient chart. "He's lost both legs, one arm, half his torso, and most of his skin. Most of what's left is burnt, third degree. The remaining skin is necrotic. The fire burnt his lungs and throat, so he can't talk and he's also currently relying on an iron lung. Also, he has severe burns to his eyes. The doctors say he'll most likely never recover his sight. Poor fella, has no quality of life. I don't even know how they've kept him alive."

"It sounds horrible, but it really would've been nicer for him if he'd passed on," Dorothy agrees solemnly.

Slightly disturbed and anxious to see her patient, Isabel spends quite a few minutes reading over his charts. Overnight, his heart rate was slow, but his blood pressure was risen, as was his body temperature. He'd received multiple bags of fluids through an IV, and was on fluids only as a source of food.

She waits another two minutes until the clock strikes ten, the time for her shift's first rounds of medication dispersal and vitals, before walking into the man's room. At the sight of him, she has to hold in her gasp, pausing in the doorway.

Most of the patient's upper body is hidden within the iron lung. His only remaining arm is free and visible, but both of his legs are missing, the blankets abruptly falling back to the bed just below his hips. What's left of his skin is wrapped in thick bandages, stained a horrible yellow from the fluid leaking onto them. His face is covered by the mask of the iron lung, but from underneath the clear plastic, Isabel can see burns extending up his neck to his face and eyes.

Isabel must have been staring a bit, because a loud sigh from the corner of the room makes her jump. Her eyes flick to the corner where another soldier sits at the man's bedside, dressed in his formal uniform with an arm in a sling that's been amputated at the elbow. Even if he'd been in civilian clothing, Isabel would have been able to tell from his posture and from the look in his eyes that he's a returned soldier too.

She makes her legs carry her from the doorway and enters the room, making the soldier look up and meet her eyes expectantly. He stands respectfully, offering his left hand to shake since his right is missing.

"Sergeant Miller, at your service, ma'am," he greets her, his voice steely but solemn.

"Nurse Isabel Barnes," Isabel replies. "I'm assuming you know Sergeant Daley?" She asks, referring to the patient on the cot.

"Yes, I do. Very well," Miller says with a sigh, sitting back down in his chair. "We served and trained together, but we've known each other since high school. I suppose you know what happened?"

"Yes, I've been informed of the basics," Isabel says.

Miller nods. "I got caught in the same landmine, hence this," he says, holding up his arm.

"I'm sorry," Isabel says quietly, unsure of how to address such a comment. "How long ago was it amputated?"

"About two weeks, now."

"Any pain, bleeding, swelling?" She asks.

"No, ma'am. It just has an odd sensation. It feels like it's still there. If it wasn't in a sling, I think I'd try to use it to pick things up," he says, experimentally moving the arm in its restricted confines.

"That's normal. Unfortunately, it's likely you'll have those feelings the rest of your life."

"They told me," Miller agrees.

"If you ever want me to have a look, just ask," Isabel offers. Her eyes flick away from the Sergeant to her patient's still form, and she takes a steadying breath. "Do you know if he can hear us? Does he respond to speech?" Isabel asks, coming closer to the sick soldier. The iron lung is loud, whistling with each expansion of the machine.

"Not sure, miss. He doesn't do much of anything, other than lay there and breathe. Though he isn't really doing that anyway, is he? He hasn't done anything since the accident happened a few weeks ago. I try to talk to him, just in case, so he doesn't get lonely."

"Good, that's good," Isabel says.

"Do you think he can hear me?"

"It's hard to say. An obvious reaction to speech would make the situation clearer. You know, if he moved his hands or tried to communicate. It depends on how his brain is responding to the trauma. Whether he's conscious or in a coma."

Miller nods. "I'll keep talking to him anyway."

"Okay. I, uh, I need to change his bandages. It most likely won't be pretty and it will be rather confronting. If you don't feel comfortable, feel free to leave. There's a set of seats along the wall outside where you could wait, and a cafeteria in level one. You need to remember to take care of yourself, as hard as it is," Isabel tells him. She drags a trolley of supplies closer, checking everything is in place.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm good, ma'am. Brother's stick together, through thick and thin," Miller replies, dragging his chair just a bit closer to his friend and putting a hand on his, a comforting presence. Isabel is immediately reminded of Steve and Bucky, and nods her understanding.

She quickly checks his vitals, checking his heart rate, blood pressure, and so on. Everything remains constant, as it had through the night, which is a relief. She gives him another dose of morphine and connects another bag of fluids, waiting a few minutes for the medication to start working before she starts removing the layers of bandages.

Luckily, Sergeant Daley is in a private room, because just the sight of the body is enough to make Isabel feel physically sick. What's left of him is wrapped in gauze, but still, blood and water continues weeping through the bandages like a disturbing painting on the bandages. She moves the iron lung upward slightly to be able to reach the man's torso and arm easier. As she unwraps the bandages to change them, his exposed arm and hand are charred black, resembling hunks of meat with no skin left on it at all. His bodily fluids run out of him like a tap, dripping steadily into a small bowl underneath his hand and soaking into the sheets. The IV bag set up to feed water back into his system struggles to keep up, so Isabel must work quickly.

Isabel cleans the wounds, keeping them moist. The little remaining dead skin is, unfortunately, spreading rapidly, killing off the skin that is undamaged. Isabel has to get a cloth with clean water and disinfectant and scrub at the dead skin to remove it, leaving the already burned skin raw and chaffed. She feels a terrible guilt settle in her heart for causing the man more pain than he's already in; she just hopes that the fire has singed his nerves and pain receptors so he can't feel anything, and that the morphine is enough to dull the feeling. Unfortunately, this also takes a long time, so before she can quickly re-wrap them to stop the fluid leakage, he's already lost a lot of blood and water. At the rate he's losing water and dehydrating, Isabel is surprised he's still alive. However, the heart monitor continues to beep in the corner, indicating a steady but very weak heartbeat.

Isabel throws out the bloodied, soaked bandages and cleans up the bed sheets, trying to soak up the fluid. Just as she plans to check Daley's eyes for any signs of recovery, Miller stands. She jumps, almost forgetting the man was there because he was so silent, watching her movements with a calculated, appreciative stare.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks quietly, leading Isabel to the doorway and out of hearing range. "Daley, Harry. He's my friend. I- I need to know. Will he live?"

Isabel sighs, looking contemplating at Daley. Miller giving the man a first name makes it all the more real. "I can't say. We can continue to monitor him, try to stop his injuries from worsening, stop the fluid loss, but the chances aren't good. Sergeant Daley is twenty-five and _was_ in good health before the incident, but he has severe burns to approximately sixty-five percent of his body, if you include his legs. We figure out a person's odds for recovery by taking their age and the percentage of burns from one hundred, which unfortunately leaves Sergeant Daley with a five percent chance of recovery. While some people do pull miraculous feats of recovery, that percentage doesn't consider the loss of his limbs, eyesight, and the possible hearing and brain damage. Even if he does make it…"

"His quality of life would be limited," Miller finishes.

"He wouldn't have a quality of life, Sergeant. It's hard to admit, but your friend could likely be in a vegetated state, or have some form of brain damage. He will never recover from that. He cannot truly live, but right now, with what we are doing to keep him stable, he is being prevented from dying."

"I understand," Miller says, rubbing a hand over his face, his face creasing as though he might cry. When he looks up, his expression is schooled again. "Thank you for being upfront, ma'am. As sad as it is, it feels good to finally know the truth. The doctors seem to want to beat around the bush."

"Well, I'm not a doctor, Sergeant Miller. Nurses are known more for their bedside manner, but that also means my words may not always be correct. No matter what I say, take it with a pinch of salt. But I'm glad I could give you some sort of closure. Sometimes, it's necessary," Isabel agrees. She puts a comforting hand on the Sergeant's shoulder. "I really am very sorry. I can't even imagine."

"Thank you, miss," Miller says warmly. "Just do what you gotta do, nurse."

Isabel nods, moving away and back to her patient.

"I'm going to check his eyes, see if there's any improvement," she tells Miller as she unwraps the bandages, revealing the man's burned eyes. Not only are his eyelids and the surrounding skin blistered and red raw, the eyeballs themselves are burned, distorted in shape as though they'd been melted. The corneas were diagnosed as burned as well, taking away any chances of sight regeneration. Isabel sighs.

She gets a clean bandage, ready to re-wrap his injury, when suddenly, the soldier beneath her rapidly starts banging his head against the pillow, frightening Isabel enough that she flies backward away from him.

"Oh my God," she breathes, hurriedly pressing the emergency button on the wall to call for help. She hovers over the man's head, wondering whether he's having a seizure or feeling pain. She has no idea whether she should try to restrain him or let him flail his head.

Gertrude comes running into the room a second later. "Isabel, is everythi–" Gertrude's eyes land on the flailing man, her eyes widening. "What's going on? What's he doing?" She asks, running to the patient's other side.

"I have no idea," Isabel answers, checking his vitals. "He's fine, there's nothing different with his blood pressure, so it isn't pain. I only gave him another dose of morphine not even twenty minutes ago."

"He's communicating," Sergeant Miller suddenly says, slowly moving closer to his friend, his brows furrowed. "He's using Morse code." The Sergeant watches carefully, counting out the number of head bangs and writing random letters on a small notepad on the bedside table.

"What? How do you know?"

"Everyone learns Morse code at basic training. Daley was a communications specialist, he excelled at it. He's telling us something." The headbanging ceases suddenly, the nurses stare wide-eyed at the now silent, still soldier. "He said 'nurse'. He knows you're here. He can hear you."

"Yes, I'm here, Harry," Isabel reassures. "I'm going to look after you." She addresses him by his first name, though it goes against protocol, hoping its use will reassure him he's in a safe place, away from the conflict.

The headbanging continues. "No use… I think he's saying it's no use looking after him. He's beyond saving," Miller says sadly, his eyes not leaving the paper. "That isn't true, Harry."

 _Bang, bang, bang,_ the banging continues. "Nurse, family… He's asking if you have any family?"

"Uh," Isabel stammers, walking closer to her patient. "Yes, I do."

 _Bang, bang,_ "Brother? Do you have a brother?"

"Yes, two. Bucky and Robbie," Isabel replies, putting a comforting head on the man's forehead.

The next bangs are significantly calmer, Isabel's hand on his forehead clearly calming the blinded man. The head banging abruptly continues for a few seconds, Miller writing out another string of letters. "Army… He asks if your brother is in the army?"

Isabel gulps. Gertrude looks at Isabel with a worried frown. "Bucky's at basic training now," she says quietly.

There's stillness for a moment, before the head banging starts again, this time going on longer than before. "Daley said 'don't let him go'," Miller tells Isabel, looking up at her with an expression that is both sympathetic and apologetic.

"I can't stop that," Isabel whispers to Miller.

Miller sighs. "Harry has seen things no person should have to, ma'am. We all have. He's just trying to look out for you and your family. He's a good guy, that's what he does," Miller reasons, putting a comforting hand on the top of his friend's head as well. "It's okay, Harry, her brother will be fine. You don't need to worry. I'm sure he can handle himself."

Harry bangs his head again. "No one can," Miller interprets. He looks sad and solemn, his eyes staring down at his friend's pinched, burned features.

Isabel watches, eyes wide and mouth ajar in shock. Suddenly the banging start again, a relentless stream of soft thuds of the soldier's head hitting the pillow. It goes on for minutes, never seeming to end, and Miller isn't writing anything down, despite the fact there should be a whole paragraph by now.

"What's he saying now?" Gertrude asks from beside Isabel, an arm wrapped comfortingly around Isabel's shoulders.

"The same thing over and over," Miller says evenly, his eyes steely. "'Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me'."

* * *

The following day, Isabel pauses in front of Sergeant Daley's room, summoning the courage to enter. Yesterday's experience had seen her up all night with nightmares, imagining Bucky and Steve in the same position, both of them taking turns to be amputated and blind and asking her to kill them. When she'd turned up for work today, Gertrude had offered her another set of patients, but she'd declined. Both Sergeants Daley and Miller were familiar to the nurse, they'd grown a bond yesterday that now tethered them to each other. She knew who they were, the friendship between the two men, and she felt like she was the only one who could help. Gertrude had understood and had given her a small business card with the number of the hospital's counselling service on it. "Just in case it gets too much, or you just want to talk," she reassured, patting her shoulder solemnly.

When she finally steps around the corner, the room is unusually quiet, the heart rate machine in the corner turned off and the iron lung no longer making its whirring sound. Sergeant Miller is nowhere to be seen.

Isabel hurries over to Harry's form, pressing a finger hurriedly to his wrist, finding no pulse. "Harry? Sergeant Daley?" She asks, though it's no use. His body temperature has dropped, cool to the touch. He doesn't breathe, doesn't move, his unseeing eyes hidden beneath the bandages.

She presses the emergency button and Gertrude comes bustling in, freezing at the sight.

"He's gone," Isabel informs her.

"What? How?"

"The heart rate monitor has been turned off, and the iron lung's been unplugged at the wall," she says, holding up the end of the cord. "I, I think –"

"He must have died in his sleep," Gertrude says, rather punctuated.

"What? Gert, the machines were _unplugged_. This wasn't a–"

"Isabel," Gertrude says, taking Isabel's hand in her own. "He died in his sleep. I know it's hard to lose a patient, especially when the odds are so skewed against you. But this really is for the best. From what Sergeant Miller told you about his friend, Harry wouldn't have wanted to live like that, like a vegetable. That isn't living. But still, I'm sorry."

Isabel nods, finally understanding. They're going to cover for Miller. They're going to hide the evidence, make it all the more better for everyone involved. She opens her mouth to reply, but is unable to say anything past the lump in her throat. She swallows it down and tries again. "It would have been cruel for him to continue living," Isabel mumbles. "His body was nothing more than a prison. We were just keeping him alive in his own personal hell. It's better this way."

"Exactly, love. In some ways, Miller was a blessing."

Isabel nods again. The body is taken to the morgue by the orderlies and Isabel watches it be wheeled away, a white sheet covering Daley from view. She sits a while in Miller's chair in the corner and says a few prayers, making the sign of the cross when she's finished. Then, she gets to work stripping the bed, remaking it with new sheets tucked tightly over the edges. She goes about her daily rituals, moving fluidly through the ward. But no matter how many patients she sees, how many wounds she tends to, how many people she talks to, she can't get the image of the blinded, crippled suffering man out of her head.

* * *

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **July 17** **th** **, 1942**

Steve, of course, tries to enlist again. He forges the papers this time though, because this is his third attempt and he can't keep returning to the recruitment agency as Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, since they'll remember him. He knows it's illegal, but he's getting desperate, hoping to catch up to Bucky before it's too late. He travels all the way to the Bronx to enlist, hoping that the agency there might be less strict on following medical codes. On the papers he makes up an address he wrote down a few streets over, but still asks for his mail to be sent to his mother's apartment in Brooklyn, a plan all worked out for how he'll receive his mail. But still, he's rejected, almost faster than usual, sent home with another slip stamped unfit for service and his ego crushed once again.

The ride back to Brooklyn on the subway seems longer than it had on the way there. Steve sits quietly in a window seat, though there isn't anything to see since they're flying through an underground tunnel. Finally, the train stops at his local station and he emerges from the underground only a few blocks from his apartment. However, instead of heading left toward home, he turns right and walks the block to the Barnes' residence, knocking quietly on their front door when he reaches it.

Isabel answers, seemingly home alone with the twins out with Mrs. Barnes, and George Barnes hard at work. She greets him and lets him in, leading him back to the lounge room. "I was just reading some refreshers," she explains, packing up a medical textbook that she'd been making notes from.

"What for?" Steve asks, unable to get a look at the textbook before she's moving it aside.

"Just about treating extreme burns and amputations," she says. "There's been a few patients lately with large percentages of burns to their body so I thought I'd brush up on my understanding," she explains, her voice tinged with sadness. Steve suspects she may have struggled with a patient. "Anyway, what have you been up to, today?" Steve hesitates, not having made up any excuses about his whereabouts. His hesitation immediately draws Isabel's attention. "Steve?"

"I've just been around," Steve tries. Isabel raises an eyebrow in discouragement of lying.

"You weren't trying to enlist again, were you?" She asks quietly.

Steve sighs, looking away. The rejection note seems to burn a hole into him through the pocket of his shorts. "Maybe."

"Why Steve? I don't understand this fascination," Isabel tells him, frustrated, running a hand through her hair.

"Belle, I gotta do this. I have to fight for the little guy. I have just as many rights as anyone else."

"Everyone has rights, Steve. That doesn't automatically give them the permission or the ability to do whatever they want within those rights," Isabel argues, her voice frustrated. "You've tried to enlist before. How many times is this?"

"Four," Steve admits.

"How can you try so many times? Surely they keep records of who is deemed unfit?"

"They do," Steve agrees. "Like I told you, I change my place of birth and go to different recruiting centers in different boroughs."

"You're still lying on your enlistment forms?" Isabel cries, her eyes wide with shock. "Steve from the Bronx, from Queens, from New Jersey? They'll catch you."

"God no, even I wouldn't associate myself with Jersey," Steve shudders, but then he grows serious again. "They haven't worked it out yet, Belle, it's fine."

"It isn't fine, Steve. They'll find out, and you'll be punished. You could go to prison, or worse, they'll actually send you out to fight." Isabel runs a frustrated hand down her face, standing and pacing up and down the lounge room. "Why do you want to go? I understand the reasons," she cuts in as Steve goes to explain his motives again. "I just don't think you understand the consequences. I don't think you have any idea of what you're trying to get yourself into."

"And you do?" Steve asks defensively, standing up too so that he's the same height as Isabel. She stops pacing and looks at him, her eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, I do. I treated a patient three days ago, that's why I've been reading about the burns and the amputations. He was a soldier, only served one day on the front lines when he and his childhood best friend got caught in a landmine. They sent him back here once he was stable, but he was never going to make it. He lost both his legs, an arm, half his torso, and what was left of him was almost completely singed. He was blinded, his lungs and throat were burnt, and he couldn't breathe without an iron lung. How they managed to transport him all the way back to Brooklyn without him dying is beyond me, he must have been treated very well on the ship. I don't know how he wasn't already dead. His fluids were leaking out of his body just as fast as we could put them back in. I had to wrap and re-wrap his gauze every hour."

Isabel takes a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tears reemerging as they had the last few nights. "His friend was there, hadn't left his side in weeks despite his own injuries. He seemed nice, respectful. He took it well when I admitted his friend would have little quality of life if he lived any longer, that we were keeping him going. Then suddenly, the patient started banging his head, and turns out he was communicating through Morse code, telling me not to let anyone go to war, to stay away, and then asking us to kill him. Over and over. The next day he was dead. I found him, lying there, cold in his cot. We wrote on the official forms that he passed in his sleep, but it was actually a suspicious death. The machines keeping him alive were all unplugged. It wouldn't have been a painful death, just would have been like going to sleep. Someone, and I'm assuming it was his friend because he disappeared, gave in to his chant, put him out of his misery. If you love someone enough, you don't want them to suffer."

Isabel looks away from Steve, burying her head in her hands as the tears fall rapidly. The image of the man lingers in her head, his emotion-less face beneath the bandages slowly morphing into Bucky, Steve sitting beside him in the chair. She sees Steve leaning over Bucky, turning off the switch to the iron lung, saying his final goodbyes…

Steve steps closer to Isabel, slowly, reaching out a hand to her shaking shoulder. "What if that was you? Or Bucky? Why do you want to do that to yourselves?" Isabel cries. As soon as Steve makes contact, she flings herself into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

"Hey, shh," Steve hushes, petting Isabel's hair and allowing her to cry into his shoulder. "Shh, it's okay, Belle. Everything is okay, we're all safe."

"You won't be if you go to war," Isabel whimpers, her nose and eyes running and her voice thick. "Please, stop trying. Don't go. Don't do to someone else what that man did to me as his nurse. Just don't, please!"

"It's okay, I won't. We'll be fine," Steve reassures. He feels guilt settle in his stomach, knowing he's causing these kinds of painful thoughts for his friend. "I'm sorry," he says, leaning his chin on top of her head as she buries her face in his shoulder.

He's got a lot to think about now, he's heard a new side of the war he hadn't considered before. His stomach is uneasy, feeling a little sickened by her descriptions. He can see how it would be easy for Isabel to picture himself and Bucky in the same place, especially with the circumstances of each pair's friendship. It's definitely put him off voluntarily enlisting.

For a while, anyway.

* * *

A/N: Here's our first insight into the horrors of the war happening overseas. I can only imagine how frightening it would have been for people who were expecting to go overseas to fight or people who had family fighting after hearing of something like this happening to a soldier.

I was inspired for the story of the injured soldier by Metallica's song "One". It is the fourth track on their album _…And Justice For All_ , and they themselves were inspired by the novel _Johnny Got His Gun_ by Dalton Trumbo. In the book, Joe Bonham, a soldier in World War I, is injured in a landmine explosion that takes away his limbs and face, leaving him prisoner in his own body. He has lost his ability to hear, see and talk, and therefore can't communicate his thoughts to the medical crew that are keeping him alive. The lyrics of the song follow his plea to be put out of his misery. A specific passage from the book is: "How could a man lose as much of himself as I have and still live? When a man buys a lottery ticket, you never expect him to win because it's a million to one shot. But if he does win, you'll believe it because one in a million still leaves one. If I'd read about a guy like me in the paper I wouldn't believe it, cos it's a million to one. But a million to one always leaves one. I'd never expect it to happen to me because the odds of it happening are a million to one. But a million to one always leaves one. One."

The process of Isabel cleaning the soldiers' burns is inspired by the experiences of my grandfather quite a few years ago when he suffered horrific burns in a motor-garage accident. While I don't know every detail and I'm not in the medical field, I can't ensure that my portrayal is entirely accurate, I was just using his stories of his experiences as reference.

As a writer and frequent reader, I've almost become immune to the portrayal of atrocities, so I very rarely bat an eyelid at anything that people can come up with. I'm not afraid to write about topics that are crude and vile in nature, and I don't shy away from blood and gore. Hopefully this will allow me to really give you readers an insight into the character's experiences of war. I am aware that this may slightly narrow my reader demographic and will try to keep it to a minimum to ensure reader enjoyment :)


	11. Chapter 10

**10.**

 **Tomah, Wisconsin**

 **July 22nd** **, 1942**

The men march through the late hour along the tree line, the darkness surrounding them. Their boots stomp the ground in uniform fashion, helmets sitting on their heads, packs donned and rifles at the ready. They're nearly at the finishing point of their march around the perimeter, and the men are starting to slow, exhausted from a long week of training.

Bucky walks at the front of the company formation, the highest-ranking soldier present. The company is silent, completing their task without speaking.

"Sergeant Barnes?" A voice calls from the back of the line, breaking the silence.

Bucky continues staring straight ahead. "What is it?"

"Permission to speak, sir?"

It takes Bucky a second to process that the men are calling him "sir" before he responds. "Permission granted."

"There's nine different companies on base, sir. Why are we the only one marching every Friday night for twelve miles in the pitch dark?"

"Why do you think, Private?" Bucky asks. He licks his lips, dying for a drink.

"Cramer hates us, sir."

Bucky has to agree with the talkative Private. Cramer seems awfully harsh on the company, though he knows the man is just trying to produce the toughest troops. He may be a prick and may even be a poor combat leader, but hopefully he does his job in preparing the men mentally and physically for the war. As for the weekend passes, well, Bucky doesn't think the Germans get given out weekend passes anyway. Still, no matter how much he agrees with his men, he knows better to undermine Cramer's authority.

"Captain Cramer doesn't hate anyone, Private," Bucky responds evenly. "Except maybe you."

That gets a laugh from the company. "Thank you, sir," the Private says sarcastically, smiling despite the pain in his feet and the intense thirst of a twelve mile march without hydration.

The troop of men spot the lights of the campsite in the distance and their pace seems to quicken to get there faster. The sooner they get to the camp, the sooner they can get some sleep. They march into camp, stopping in a group outside Captain Cramer's office, Bucky taking front position facing the men.

"On my order, you will all upend your canteens and pour its contents onto the ground," Cramer orders, walking in front of Bucky and eyeing the sweating men. The men pull their canteens from their packs obediently. "Now."

Bucky and the men unscrew their canteens and let the water drip out onto the dirt below, creating small mud puddles beside their feet. The hole them outward as the most people's entire canteen drain out bar one soldier, who'd apparently disobeyed orders and taken a drink.

"What is this?" Cramer demands, snatching the Private's canteen from his hand. "Andrews! Why is there no water in your canteen? You drank from it, didn't you?" He doesn't allow Private Andrews the time to defend himself. "Out in the field, you'll be marching much further under enemy fire and you won't have time to fill up your canteens at a damn tap. There won't _be_ any damn taps. You get used to going without now, or you'll never make it ten miles through the forest. You disobeyed a direct order, Andrews. You will fill your canteen and repeat all twelve miles of the march."

"Yes, sir," Andrews replies respectfully, saluting his Captain before escaping his evil eye, heading to the tap to fill the canteen before starting the march again.

"Fall out," Cramer demands, and the company gratefully splitting off to their own dorms for a much-needed shower and rest.

Bucky turns to move away too, but halts when Cramer comes toward him. "Sergeant Barnes. I got a bone to pick with you. You're fifteen minutes late coming back from the march and you allowed a troop to defy a direct order. You're making me look bad," Cramer hisses, glaring at Bucky.

Bucky takes a deep breath. He's only a Sergeant, leading these men through basic is Cramer's job, and if he's going to sit at his desk, he can't expect the men to be led to his perfectionist standards. He knows that leading the men will be his duty at some point, but they're talking about a practice march around the perimeter, not leading them through enemy territory in the dead of winter.

"Sorry, sir. There's no excuse, sir," Bucky replies, taking the blame knowing it will save him a lot of hassles in the long run.

"No, there isn't. Under my command, I want this to be the first and finest company of them all."

"Understood, sir," Bucky answers, nodding to his superior officer.

Cramer turns and watches the backs of the retreating men, who are nearing their dorms and the shower blocks. "You want to make up for your actions tonight, Sergeant? If not, I'll happily revoke your badge and your increased monthly wages."

"Yes, sir. I want to redeem myself, sir."

"Good. I want the names of six men and their infractions on my desk by zero one thirty. Is that clear?" Cramer orders Bucky, looking at him challengingly.

Bucky's eyes flick up to meet his Captain's, his brow furrowing. "What infractions, sir?" Bucky asks in confusion, an accusing tone to his voice.

"Anything. And if you don't find any, I will," Cramer hisses, before turning his back on Bucky and slamming the door to his office shut behind him.

* * *

Bucky reports to Cramer's office at one thirty that night, exhausted. He's spent the last few hours requesting the men empty out their bedside drawers and show him the contents of their trunks on Captain Cramer's orders, and the men hadn't hesitated to comply, not blaming Bucky for the nuisance. He'd hoped and prayed that the results would turn up nothing, but he'd been disappointed. Instead of the six names requested, he only had two, but it was still two too many. However, what Cramer considered an infraction seemed much different to what Bucky did, and Bucky wouldn't be surprised if a second search would turn up more results.

"Sir?" Bucky asks as he enters Cramer's office.

"Sergeant Barnes, right on time. What infractions did you find?" Cramer asks, looking up from his paperwork and meeting Bucky's eyes expectantly.

"Only two, sir."

"Only two?" Cramer asks unbelievingly. "I doubt that. These men don't seem to want to follow orders."

"Sir, I found-"

Cramer interrupts Bucky from giving the names and infractions he'd stayed up hours to find, waving the Sergeant away. "Get some sleep, Sergeant. I will conduct my own thorough search of the bunks at oh-seven hundred hours. Be up and ready."

"Yes, sir," Bucky replies, saluting. He makes his way out the door with a sigh, walking across the campgrounds to his dorm. He throws off his boots and collapses into bed, careful not to wake the sleeping men around him.

* * *

Cramer turns up right on seven hundred hours for the inspection. Bucky is sitting on his cot, fully dressed and ready for the day, and stands up rigidly when Cramer bursts in through the door. The other men from the dorm are in the mess hall eating their breakfast, leaving the dorm empty except for Bucky.

"Sergeant Barnes," Cramer greets, awfully cheerful for running on less than five hours sleep.

Bucky stands, snapping into a salute. "Captain," Bucky responds. "I had the men empty their bedside drawers and trunks just last night. The two infractions I identified were–"

"Save it, Barnes, I'll look myself," Cramer interrupts, and Bucky slams his mouth shut. He stands still as a statue in the attentive position beside his bed as Cramer rips the drawers from the men's bedside tables and spills its contents onto their cots, wafting through it quickly.

"Pornography. Contraband," he says, holding up a very-used magazine with a risqué picture of a woman on the front. That was one of the infractions Bucky had picked up, and Bucky nods to the Captain to indicate this.

In Private Crawley's drawer he pulls out a red and black colored tie. "Non-regulation clothing. Contraband." Bucky raises his eyebrow. He'd seen that but had let it slide. As long as Crawley doesn't wear the tie, he sees no problem.

After Cramer searches every bedside drawer and trunk in the dorm, pulling out various items that went against his personal regulations, Cramer makes his way back to Bucky's area.

"I can admire you, Sergeant Barnes," he says. "You followed my orders despite the threat of it causing a rift between you and the men. You'll make a good leader. The men, they speak nothing but good about you, and I like that. A leader who is relatable for the troops. It will help with your leadership if you have their respect, which you no doubt gain without much trouble."

"Thank you, sir," Bucky says appreciatively, not expecting such complimentary words from Captain Cramer.

Cramer nods then steps in front of Bucky. His eyebrows raise on his forehead when he spots Becca's butterfly drawing taped to the wall, and Bucky's cheeks go a little red, but he says nothing. Cramer opens Bucky's bedside drawer, scouring its contents to find a watch, an essentials bag, two worn novels, and a handful of letters from home. "How is it, Sergeant, that you have spare time for so much correspondence?" He asks.

"The nights can be long, Captain."

Cramer picks up one of the envelopes and pulls the letter out, Winifred's elegant handwriting flitting across the paper in black ink. Bucky cringes as the man reads the letter from his mother, though Cramer's furrowed brow does soften as his eyes scan the words. He reads it from top to bottom, then lowers the page from his eyes, a far-off stare framing his features.

"Captain, are personal letters to be considered contraband?" Bucky asks quietly.

"Depends on their nature," Cramer says, carefully putting the letter back into its envelope. "Yours is acceptable, Barnes. Your mother, she reminds me of my own. I haven't received a letter from my mother in over ten years. I hope you're appreciative of the love yours clearly has for you."

Bucky's mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words, shocked by Cramer's rather sudden change in demeanour. "Yes, sir. I am. My mother and the rest of my family are the most wonderful people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."

Cramer nods, hanging the letter back to Bucky. "Good. And you'll do good to not forget that, no matter where you find yourself." Cramer takes a deep breath, nodding to the letter in Bucky's hand. "I understand that personal letters serve as a source of morale boost for troops, both before they serve and whilst on active duty. I may be harsh, but I'm unwilling to sacrifice the success of this company in such a manner."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Bucky replies, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Cramer looks at Bucky a moment, his demeanour seeming much lighter than it had before. "It's scheduled for thunderstorms this afternoon. The company will have a light afternoon of lecture and classroom instruction instead of the usual PT training," Cramer informs the Sergeant, making his way toward the door. Bucky follows. "I think a special meal for the afternoon off would be a welcome change of pace for the men. Would you agree?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Bucky says truthfully. He's growing rather sick of measly mess hall food. He doesn't even want to think about the rations.

"I'm rather fond of spaghetti," Cramer confides, smiling at Bucky in a way he hadn't previously. "I think I might put in an order to the mess hall chef."

Bucky doesn't know what he saw in the letter, but it's certainly flicked a switch in the Captain's mind.

* * *

Later that day when the lunchtime meal is served, Bucky sits in the mess hall with Robinson and Crawley. He doesn't say anything to Crawley about the Captain finding his horrific tie, instead waiting to see if Cramer actually approaches the Private about it.

The spaghetti meal in front of them is rather poorly. It's just thin egg noodles with a mountain of ketchup sprayed onto them, topped with a small sprinkling of cheese. It takes like absolute shit, but Bucky's hungry.

"I don't even know what this is," Donald Crawley says in disgust, cringing after taking a mouthful.

"Cramer won't be very happy. He said he likes spaghetti, but this ain't it," Bucky mumbles, slurping down his portion so that he won't starve before dinner.

"If I were Italian I'd be offended," Robinson chimes in, pushing his plate away. "I'll go hungry."

"At least we have food," Bucky mumbles, taking another bite and sucking up the stray noodle that drips onto his chin.

"Pfft. I can think of better things than having food. Right now, some lucky bastards headed for the South Pacific," Robinson says. "He'll get billeted on some tropical island sitting under a tree with naked native girls helping him cut up coconuts so he can hand-feed the flamingos. Sounds perfect to me. I'd take that over a pathetic excuse for Italian spaghetti any day."

"You don't know anything about war," Bucky laughs. "Plus, Flamingos are mean. I doubt you'd want to hand-feed one of those bastards. I pet one at the Central Park Zoo once. They bite."

"So do the naked native girls if we're lucky," Crawley says, pulling his bayonet from his pocket. "You can keep your natives, Robinson. I'd be glad to go to Europe. Hilter gets this across the windpipe," he mimes the action of slitting a throat with the knife, "and Roosevelt changes Christmas to "Donald Crawley day" and I get to live on a hefty pension the rest of my life."

"What if they send us to North Africa?" George Lore speaks up from beside Robinson, drawn in to their conversation. "My brother's there. He says it's hot."

"Hot? In Africa? Who'd have guessed?" Bucky jokes.

"Shut it, Serge. Point is, it don't matter where we get sent. Once we get into combat, you trust only yourself and the man next to you," Lore says determinedly.

"As long as he's in the one-oh-seventh, that is. Those other men can't wield a rifle like we can," Robinson adds.

"What if that soldier turns out to be Captain Cramer?" Crawley asks. "If I'm next to him, I'm moving further down the line. I'd rather hook up with another officer, like Barnes over here. I like you, Barnes. You seem like a good kid."

"I'm older than you," Bucky protests to deaf ears.

"And when the bullets fly, I don't want no Quaker fighting beside me. We need people beside us who aren't afraid to wield a gun or a bottle of whiskey."

"Most of 'em wouldn't even be there, Crawley. They're all conscientious objectors. They're all either imprisoned or they work as ambulance drivers and stretcher bearers. Be a little more respectful," Bucky warns the Private with a wary eye.

"Sorry, Serge," Crawley says guiltily.

"Part of fighting in a war is joining the brotherhood. You gotta respect one another or it ain't gonna work. The whole reason we're getting shipped over there anyway is to fight for the little guy who's being downtrodden and tortured and hell knows what else. Last thing we need is racism and discrimination in our own companies," Bucky continues, sounding an awful lot like Steve.

"You seem pretty protective of them sons of Abraham, Sergeant Barnes. Is there something you want to tell us?" Lore asks, though there's no harshness behind his words, only genuine curiosity.

"He's a Jew," Crawley discovers, his mouth dropping open.

"Not really. I don't know nothing about it, but my Ma is. She moved from Russia to the States to get away from all the stuff we're going over to stop. My father's a born and bred Catholic New Yorker. I guess you could say I'm a little bit of both, or nothing of either. Depends on what day it is."

"What do you think of everything going on over there? Is that why you're fighting?"

"No, I was drafted. But I have always felt like it was a little closer to home than anyone else did. Besides, I don't think being a Jew or not has anything to do with it. What's going on over there is so wrong and evil I can't even wrap my head around it. Everyone should be fighting it, and we are. That's why nearly every country in the world is an ally. Anyway, until then, I'd appreciate if you'd all keep your comments to yourself. Doesn't matter what religion we are, just matters that we're fighting for the same side, for the good of the world. It really isn't something to joke about," Bucky berates the men.

They all look a little stunned. "I'm sorry, Sergeant Barnes, I didn't know."

"Well it isn't publicized information and there's obviously a reason for that. You don't need to apologize. But I trust that this conversation stays between us four." They all look quite solemn and apologetic for their earlier talk. "I understand that bantering and insulting one another is a good way for you all deal with what's happening to you, and I don't want you to stop. I'm sure my feelings can take a slight stabbing if it means you all keep doing your best. I just don't want to hear anything about money or my nose."

The men laugh, the lightheartedness returning. "Yes, sir. Of course."

Bucky doesn't say anything, but he notices later in the day that the men look at their Sergeant with a newfound respect, a protective gleam in their eyes that hadn't always been there. He doesn't comment on it, though.

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you all for the reads, follows, favourites and reviews. Every word and peering eye makes me more grateful than you'll ever know. I hope everyone is enjoying the story, even as we move into some of the darker territories as our favourite characters are steered toward their encounter with the war. We still have quite a few chapters to go until we reach movie territory, but it's all planned out and it's on it's way!

Just a heads up that this chapter contained some era-appropriate racist slurs. I didn't meant to offend anyone and I'm sorry if I did. I'm merely just trying to communicate what it was truly like for people of varying nationalities and cultures in times of such discrimination and close-mindedness. All of the terms I've used are easily found online and in the history books.

I am currently doing an assignment for university about the immigration of people to Brooklyn, New York, so this chapter fits in nicely with my studies. This story and the idea of Bucky's family being Jewish was what persuaded me to take on the topic for my case study as I found it really interesting!


	12. Chapter 11

**11.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **August 16** **th** **, 1942**

Isabel and Steve make their way into the dance hall, Steve much more reluctantly than Isabel. The hall is nowhere near as crowded as a usual dance, with many of the young men already off to basic or war, and those remaining not feeling the enthusiasm for a good time when their friends and family are overseas.

They cut through the crowd to the bar, Steve waiting patiently to get the bartenders attention while Isabel escapes momentarily to talk to another group. Steve sees her speaking to a man around their age, leaning into him for a hug, but he doesn't think much of it. Isabel has always had a few friends other than himself and he's glad that she does. It probably wouldn't be normal if her only friends were her brother and his friend. Steve orders them both a drink, surprised when Isabel returns quickly to his side, thanking him for the drink, before they make their way over to the tables in the corner.

"You aren't going to make me dance, are you?" Steve asks carefully, sitting down at the table beside Isabel, who's making herself comfortable and taking off her jacket. "You know I'm a dead hopper."

Isabel takes a sip of her wine, laughing at Steve. "No, I don't really feel like dancing, so you've been saved tonight. I just wanted to feel some sort of normality," she admits.

Steve can't help but admit it isn't a bad idea. Going to dances has been a tradition of theirs for years. The thumping of the music and the laughter of the dancers spinning each other around is comforting and familiar. Steve feels himself relaxing, especially knowing he doesn't have to dance, and a stiff drink doesn't hurt either.

They sit in silence for a while, just watching, before Steve notices the man he'd seen Isabel hugging in the corner. He swallows down his jealousy, his curiosity winning over this time. "Who was that? Over by the bar?"

"Oh. That was Danny."

"Danny as in that guy your Ma wanted to set you up with?"

"Yeah," Isabel says, unusually dejectedly. "We've kind of been going steady."

"What? Since when?" Steve asks, a little hurt Isabel hadn't told him.

"A few months."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve asks, his eyes revealing the hurt he's feeling.

Isabel sighs. "I'm sorry, Steve." She can't tell him that the reason why she didn't confess was because she didn't want to see Steve look upset, because maybe he likes her that way and never told her, and seeing her with someone else would be heartbreaking. But she also didn't want to see him delighted about it because that means her feelings are only one sided. "I don't know," she admits instead. "I just didn't know how it was going to turn out. But we are getting pretty serious, I guess."

Steve looks at Isabel a moment, trying to read into her dejected tone and her saddened features. "Are you not sure how you feel about him?" Steve asks sympathetically.

"I just have a lot on my plate," Isabel admits quickly. "I hope I don't seem horrible not telling you. I wanted to. And I'd introduce you to him, but he isn't exactly coherent." She runs her finger over the rim of her glass to make a soft whistling sound. "I tried talking to him when you were ordering your drink, but he was too drunk to really take much interest. He and his friends have evidently been drinking for a while."

Steve watches as Danny and his friends mess around, shoving each other playfully and downing more drinks than he can keep count of. A few of them dance with random girls on the dance floor, but their movements are awkward and lagging, and the women usually give up after a few minutes.

"They look ridiculous, don't they?" Isabel laughs pitifully, watching Danny practically collapse face down on the bar. "At least you and Bucky know your limits."

They watch as Danny's friends gather him up and try to walk him out of the hall, stumbling themselves. Danny isn't unconscious as they'd thought because on the way out he spots Isabel and attempts to stumble his way over to her.

"Iiissss! You wanna dance, baby?" Danny slurs loudly across the hall since he isn't close enough to be within speaking range.

Isabel's cheeks heat up as the people around them turn to stare at the commotion, laughing at the wasted man being escorted from the hall. One of Danny's less-drunk friends shoots Isabel an apologetic glance, moving Danny toward the exit.

"I'll make sure he gets home," he promises, quickly herding Danny out the door. They hear the faint hollers of the men outside as they make their way down the street, causing a ruckus with the people attempting to enter the crowded hall.

Steve watches Isabel carefully, seeing the embarrassment on her face. "It's kind of hot in here. You want to go up to the roof?" He asks nonchalantly.

Isabel looks relieved, uncomfortable under the heavy gazes of onlookers. "Sure."

They take the rest of their drinks and make their way out the back of the hall, finding the stairs and climbing up to the roof. There are a few pallets already set out on the roof, since it's a popular spot for people to escape the dance momentarily.

"That really wasn't a great impression," Isabel defends Danny's honour, taking a seat on a pallet. "He really is a nice guy. He just can't handle his drink. I'll introduce you some time, if you want."

"I don't doubt he is, Is. I'm sure he's lovely, and you'll both be happy." Isabel smiles her thanks, looking away from Steve. In doing so, she misses the flash of hurt on his features, having pained him to say such a thing when he is the one who wishes to make her happy. He pushes the thoughts away and looks out at the view instead.

It's a warm night, a slight breeze blowing from the west. From the roof they have a view of Brooklyn, and in the distance, the Manhattan skyline stretching up into the clouds. The night sky is still rather light due to the glow of the city, but they can just make out the light of the stars. The two friends sit in silence on their own pallets. Steve watches the commotion of the city below, wishing he had his sketchbook so he could imprint the beautiful views onto the page. Isabel, on the other hand, stares up at the stars.

"What do you think the stars really look like?" She asks suddenly.

Steve's a little thrown off by the question, not expecting it. He has no idea what stars look like, since he never really paid attention in science class. Neither did Isabel, apparently, or at least she doesn't remember. Science was always Bucky's interest. "Bucky would know. He probably has it in a textbook somewhere."

"I'm going to take a guess and say they're just massive balls of light or something," Isabel laughs.

Steve nods. After a moment of silence, he asks, "How do you think they got there?"

"I'm not sure," Isabel answers, her tone inquisitive.

"Hmm. I remember reading somewhere that in Greek mythology, the stars, or rather the constellations, were god-favoured heroes and beasts who received a place amongst the stars as a memorial for their deeds. 'Living, conscious entities who stride across the heavens'," Steve recites, remembering the book from one of his days hauled up on bed rest.

"You believe that?"

"Not sure. I think it kind of goes against the whole Catholicism thing," Steve smirks.

"It's still beautiful. Whether it's true or not, they were still remembered in one way or another. Wouldn't it be nice to be remembered like that? Immortalised for something you did."

"That depends," Steve contemplates. "I would want to be remembered for doing something good for the world."

"I don't think you'd need to worry about that. You're the most selfless person I know," Isabel admits, finally tearing her eyes away from the stars to meet Steve's gaze. "You're meant for greatness. One day you'll do something even more amazing for people than you already do. I just hope I'm there to witness it."

Steve doesn't know how to respond to that, so he goes back to looking at the stars, hoping his blush isn't too noticeable. "Would everyone be stars? Or only best people? What about those who are just normal?"

"I'd like to think everyone. It's like a second life."

"Not Heaven?" Steve asks.

Isabel sighs. "I've grown up caught between two religions. I've been told two different things, learnt two different lifestyles, lived between two lives. I don't really know what's real and what's not anymore. I guess no one does, and those who do aren't alive to tell the tale. I'm not the type of person to say that any idea is wrong. They're just people's interpretations, and in a way, maybe there'll all correct. Maybe being immortalised in the stars is heaven, or a form of it. Everyone has their different ideas."

Steve hums in agreement. "So, for the sake of this conversation, if we were to believe that we would become stars, what do you think it would be like?" Steve humours, intrigues by this new outlook.

"I wouldn't be able to say, and I don't even know if we'd have the words to describe it," Isabel says. "But what I do know is that if you were a star, you would be shining the brightest, Steve Rogers." Steve turns to Isabel, eyebrows raised, finding her smiling contentedly at him. The way Isabel says this, with complete confidence, utter conviction and undeniable trust, has Steve's heart thumping hard in his chest.

"I think you'd be a contender to that," he says honestly.

Isabel smiles thankfully at Steve, looking away and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I'd like to think so."

* * *

A/N: Much shorter chapter this time, but it's mainly fluff. Steve and Isabel are so cute they make my inner romantic so happy. It's like I can see them together in my head and they've been leading me through their story :)

Thank you everyone for all the follows and favourites so far! Not to be a pain, but reviews wouldn't go amiss so that I know you are all enjoying the story. Thanks for your support! :)


	13. Chapter 12

**12.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **August 29** **th** **, 1942**

Isabel strides down the corridor towards the exit, her small heels clicking against the grey polished floor. The hospital is stuffy due to the warm spring weather, causing a bead of sweat to transpire on the forehead of everyone within it. The air has an underlying smell of bleach that once would have caused Isabel's nose to twitch, but now doesn't bother her in the slightest. The walls are a dull yellow, the paint scraped and peeling in places from the hundreds of gurneys that have bumped against it. Pictures of uplifting country scenery line the hallways, but war propaganda has been stapled to the bulletin boards and plastered on the glass doors, ruining the comforting setting. Even in a place of repair and recovery, it remains impossible to escape the war that wages on across the oceans.

Isabel walks through the corridors away from the emergency department where she has just finished a tiring twelve-hour shift without a break. There's no time for the doctors and nurses to stop and rest. The soldiers on the battlefront aren't granted that kind of luxury, and those on the home front treat themselves no differently.

When the first lot of American men were shipped out, women were called up to work the jobs vacated by them. Isabel narrowly avoided factory work thanks to her career in nursing which she'd established a few years prior, although she often wondered whether the emotional toll of treating the wounded was better than a bit of hard factory labour. She was also rather fascinated at the prospect of wearing pants rather than her usual dress or skirt ensemble. Many of Isabel's acquaintances who took up factory spoke of the freedom and liberation involved, not just in wearing pants, but in working for a wage and not being restricted to the confines of the apartment, as was the norm for their parents and the generation before that. Women were being given a liberty they'd never seen before. It's been widely accepted since the war began that the contribution of the home front would indeed be the make or break of the war, so for the meantime, women have been given a little more freedom and a lot more work. Things have changed dramatically since Pearl Harbour, but every woman knows that once their men return, their lives will return to normal.

For now, their strong support will see the Allies victorious… Or at least that's what the government says. Isabel's faith in that is slowly slipping. It seems as though more men are returning home injured or deceased than are volunteering to enlist or drafted according to conscription laws. Those who had once been excited by the war have slowly shrunk away from the spotlight as the reality of war dawns on them, their innocent enthusiasm and gripping war fever diminishing as quickly as it had come. The draft has taken care of the diminishing number of enlistees, of course. Thousands of wary and unwilling men, Bucky among them, have been and will be herded onto ships and off to war before they can protest.

But surely, Isabel ponders, to fight for your country you have to have heart, and those who didn't enlist voluntarily don't possess that. Were those fighting to ensure the allied success really in it because that's what they wanted, or because it was their patriotic duty? War was not some exciting overseas adventure as the propaganda proclaimed. It involved sacrifice and suffering, and for most, it was a suicide mission. Isabel could name at least one person with the right mindset for fighting war, but she certainly wasn't going to be persuading him to enlist.

Isabel knows she can only do so much for some of the men she treats and comforts. Some of them have lost the will to live, so damaged mentally by the horrors they have seen that the idea of living with these demons seems impossible. "Combat Fatigue", the psychiatrists now call it, as opposed to "shell shock" as it was called in the Great War and as her parents still refer to it. A wound, albeit an emotional one. Nevertheless, that is one type of wound well above Isabel's pay grade. The physical wounds though, she can deal with. Or at least, some of them, depending on their extent. She isn't a God or a miracle worker. There are some wounds, as she's already experienced, that go beyond the realm of treatment. Those men have met their destiny, and no number of medications or procedures can bring them back from the brink of death.

In between the odd bicycle injury or workplace accident, over half of Isabel's patients are returned soldiers suffering with complications from their wartime injuries. Mustard gas poisoning, infected bullet wounds, weeping amputated limbs – Isabel has seen it all in her past three years as a nurse. And while at first it had rattled her to the core, she now doesn't bat an eyelid. She's desensitised to the war's consequences. She's numb to illness and death. Or at least, she likes to think she is, while she can safely return to her own bedroom at the end of the shift and forget the horrors she's seen throughout the day.

The cries of pain that echo through the hallways end abruptly as Isabel escapes outside into the warm air and the doors close behind her with a dull thud. The sun is still bright in the sky of pinks and oranges even though the day is nearing its end. Isabel sets off into the streets, walking quickly, the white dress of her nurse's uniform billowing behind her.

She finally spots the dimly lit diner on the corner ahead of her, its bright pink paint job sticking out like a sore thumb against the brownstone of Brooklyn's buildings. Her legs don't seem to be able to carry her as quick as she would have liked, but she stops herself from breaking into a run.

At the shop before the diner she pauses and checks her reflection in the glass, aiming to look presentable. Her hair is still in its curled state from that morning, although her white hat with a red cross still sits atop her head. She unpins it and places it in her bag, brushing down her flyaway hairs. Her eyes are rimmed with black bags from exhaustion, but she has no foundation to cover it. Pinching her cheeks to give them some colour, she shrugs and heads around to the diner's entrance.

Leaning against the wall by the door is a tall, dark haired man, his face hidden beneath the brim of his army issue hat. He wears his olive-green dress uniform well, earning the appreciative eye of passing females. At the sound of Isabel's familiar hurried footsteps, the man turns to her.

"Bucky!" Isabel can't keep the smile off her face or control of her legs as she runs to her brother and clasps her arms around his neck, accidentally knocking his hat off his head.

"Little Isabel," Bucky smirks, returns her hug tightly, lifting his sister easily off the ground and spinning them around in circles as she giggles uncontrollably. "You have no idea how good it is to see your face."

"And you, Bucky," Isabel says, her cheeks aching from smiling so hard.

She feels a weight lift off her shoulders at the sight of Bucky returned from basic training in one piece. But of course, he hasn't begun the most dangerous part of his journey. She forces herself not to think about it as Bucky finally puts her down, smiling down at his sister, his eyes crinkled at the edges. She hadn't realised how much she would miss her brother until he actually left. Now that he's back, even if it is only for a limited time, she knows she'll never take his presence for granted again. His absence for those few months had been hard on her, and for Steve, who thought of Bucky as his brother and had moped around with her for weeks before they'd finally settled again into reality. Still, Isabel wasn't sure if that had been the whole reason, or if Steve was still disappointed at not being enlisted as well.

"No Steve, yet?" Isabel asks, looking around for any sight of their blonde friend. Bucky notices her cheeks glow slightly at the mention of Steve. That was new. He chooses to ignore it for now and puts it down to the fact that she'd probably run halfway from the hospital. He'll question her later.

"Not yet," Bucky sighs. "Let's get a table."

He holds the door open for Isabel and she waltzes inside, seemingly high on life, choosing a booth by the window. Bucky sits opposite her and the two are silent. Isabel finds herself staring at Bucky, trying to pick out any differences in him. The way he holds himself is certainly different, his carefree slouch replaced by the stiff disciplined posture of a soldier. Even though his hair is slightly shorter, his eyes and his smile are still the same, and Isabel breathes a sigh of relief she didn't realise she was holding.

A red-haired waitress drops some colourful menus on the table between them, but they go unread. Isabel has so many questions she wants to ask Bucky; whether he is up for answering them is another question.

"So, what was it like?" She finally asks, a little hesitant.

Bucky sighs audibly and shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't horrible, but it was tough. They have to train you for anything you might encounter over there. You know – weapons, ammo, living in the trenches, that kind of stuff."

"And how'd you do?"

"Pretty well, I passed all the fitness tests easily, though it felt like every muscle in my body was on fire the first few days, even muscles I didn't think existed. Working in the docks for all those years definitely helped with that. And it turns out I'm a skilled marksman as well. Guess we found that out at Coney Island, but they made me even better. I got accelerated through the ranks, like Steve told you. They made me Sergeant, said they hadn't seen anyone as sharp as me in months," he says smugly.

Isabel's eyes immediately flick toward his arms, where a silver and navy-blue insignia has been sewed onto the fabric. She doesn't know if she should congratulate him or apologise. She can only stare at the insignia. At basic, you shoot at sand bags and paper targets. Would Bucky really be able to shoot someone? She doesn't know if he could.

"Shooting a few targets is a little different than shooting at people. Will you be able to do that, Bucky?" She asks before she can stop herself, indirectly voicing her concerns.

Bucky looks at his sister with a sad gleam in his eye that has never been there before. The seconds pass by slowly and Isabel wonders if she's crossed some unspoken line, reminding Bucky of the sacrifices and inhumane actions he was going to make for his country when he finally is shipped away, reminding him that being a good shot means killing.

"It's a war, Isabel. If you don't shoot them, they'll shoot you. You know how it is," he finally says, his voice cold and his eyes devoid of their usual playful glint. Quietly, he adds, "They deserve it anyway."

Isabel looks down at her arms crossed on the table in front of her, feeling her eyes prick with tears. Her brother is such a kindred spirit, and he isn't a murderer. The thought of him being forced to do such heinous things is distressing. It is then that his last comment registered. _They deserve it_. And suddenly, she understands.

The tension between the two siblings can be cut with a knife as they stare at their own hands. Bucky shifts uncomfortably in the silence, guilt coursing through him for the harsh way he had spoken to his sister. She's seen her own terrors and treating the wounded cannot possibly be easy, but those soldiers who had shot and been shot were strangers. Now, they're talking about her family. Honestly, Bucky struggles to see himself killing a person. But shooting them feels less direct, less intimate, like a lesser act of violence. It's easy to pass off the blame for a kill to someone else beside you, to say, _"That wasn't my bullet that hit, I missed by a mile. I didn't kill that man."_ At least, that's what he'll tell himself.

Reaching across the table, Bucky takes Isabel's small hands in his own. "I missed you a lot," he mutters, apology lacing his tone and evident in his eyes. A small smile tugs at the corners of Isabel's mouth, her own silent acceptance of his apology.

"I missed you more, Buck." She squeezes his hand tightly, offering a sympathetic smile.

Just then, the door to the diner opens behind Isabel, a bell ringing above it, and in walks the slight frame of Steve Rogers. He wears his usual camel-coloured jacket and tie combination, his blonde hair slightly windswept. Bucky offers a small wave as Steve spots them, his face lighting up at the sight of his friend. The pair exchange a quick hug and hard slaps on the back.

"It's good to see you back, Buck! It wasn't the same without you," Steve admits, sitting down next to Isabel, who scoots over slightly on the small booth seat. Steve smiles fondly at her. "Hey, Belle."

"Hey, Steve," Isabel replies, suddenly very interested in the menu in front of her. Bucky holds back a laugh, wondering what on Earth is going on between his sister and Steve. He wonders if he's missed something that happened since he's been gone, or whether they've finally realised the connection he's been aware of all along. Then, he remembers that Isabel is seeing Danny and all those thoughts go out the window. He makes a mental note to ask her about that later.

"It's good to be back," Bucky says instead. "Being home feels nice."

"So how was training?" Steve asks, leaning forward eagerly in his seat. Steve, so naive and willing and wanting to join the war effort, but denied at each recruitment agency in town. He doesn't seem to see that they are saving his life by rejecting him, because if he doesn't fall at the hand of a bullet or grenade, surely one of his many illnesses would take him out over there.

"Meh," Bucky says, giving the so-so sign with his hand. "The physical training wasn't horrible. It was more the strictness of it all. Having to follow the same routine day-in, day-out got tiring after a while. Our Captain wasn't the best either. He worked us like dogs and treated us worse. And the food was pitiful, I feel like I haven't eaten anything decent in months." Bucky picks up his own menu and skims it quickly.

Steve opens his mouth, presumably to ask for more information, when the red-haired waitress trots back up to their table, her appearance perfect besides the splattering of tomato sauce on her black apron. Her uniform, a tight pink dress that ends mid-calf, hugs her hourglass figure perfectly, and Bucky looks her up and down appreciatively. This doesn't go unnoticed and she flutters her eyelashes at the charming soldier.

"What'll it be, darl?" She drawls, pulling a notepad and pen from her apron pocket.

"Give me the best thing on the menu, doll," Bucky says vaguely. "And a chocolate shake," he adds, giving the waitress his most smouldering smile. Judging by the choked giggle she gives in response, he has her frazzled. Flirt.

"And you?' She asks Isabel, a bit strangled.

"A chocolate milkshake and a large fries, please," Isabel says, handing her the menu.

The redhead turns to Steve next, an eyebrow raised by way of asking him for his order. "I'll have the Manhattan burger and a strawberry milkshake, please, ma'am," Steve smiles, ever the gentleman despite the waitress' obvious preference for Bucky, and the waitress goes on her merry way, stealing glances at Bucky over the bar every now and then as she distractedly prepares their drinks.

"Doesn't it get tiring?' Isabel asks, a little sourly.

"Doesn't what get tiring?"

"Feeling the need to flirt with every woman you interact with?" Beside Isabel, Steve lets out a muffled snort. "I don't think its a coincidence that Buck rhymes with fuc-" Steve slams a hand over Isabel's mouth, holding in his laughter.

"Don't, Is," he reprimands. Bucky just laughs.

She laughs and moves away from his hand. She raises a challenging eyebrow at Steve. "Don't even try to say it isn't true."

"I'm not," Steve promises, laughter threatening to escape.

"Well, I have to make up for fourteen weeks without any dames to look at," Bucky continues, not fazed by Isabel's crude language.

"Oh, you poor thing! How did you survive?" Isabel mocks, splaying a hand across her chest.

Their milkshakes are put on the table in front of them and Steve dives hungrily into his, slurping down half of it in one go.

"You're just jealous that you aren't the most attractive Barnes sibling," Bucky explains with a sly grin, waving her off dismissively. Isabel aims a kick at his shin underneath the table. "Ow! I was only joking!"

"And it was mean. One day your smart mouth is going to get you killed," Isabel counters in a sing-song voice, fiddling with the ends of her hair innocently and taking a small sip of her milkshake.

"No, Steve's smart mouth is going to get him killed," Bucky corrects, directing his amused smile toward the blonde, who is leaning over his drink. "How many times did you get into a fight while I was gone?" He asks, only a hint of concern in his voice.

Steve squirms under the weight of Bucky's assumptions. "Three?" He answers, but it sounds more like a question. Isabel raises her thick brow at him in disagreement. "Okay, five times."

"And how many times did Isabel have to save your sorry ass?" Steve doesn't look like he was going to give an answer, so Bucky turns his attention back to Isabel.

"I was only there once, and I managed to talk the other guy out of it. I patched him up every time, though," Isabel answers, sending an apologetic look at Steve for tattling.

Bucky tuts like a disappointed middle-aged mother. "What are we going to do with you? You really are going to get yourself killed when I'm gone." Everyone falls silent as the other meanings behind Bucky's choice of words sink in. His own eyes widen slightly as he realises what he has implied.

"When you leave Brooklyn, yes," Isabel clarifies. "I'll try to watch his back, and then when you come back you can take over again. You've always done a better job."

"I don't need a bodyguard," Steve pouts.

"Yes, you do," Isabel and Bucky say at the same time, and the three break into laughter, the melancholy from seconds before dissipating.

Isabel clears her throat. "So, you're back now," _for now,_ "and we are going to make the most of it. I have a lot of things planned for us to do," Isabel says, looking for a change in conversation.

"Oh yeah? Things that we have done a million times or new things?" Bucky baits.

"New and old things," she replies in a 'duh' kind of way, earning a chuckle out of Bucky.

"She wrote another list," Steve adds.

Isabel frowns. Her habit of making lists has always been helpful, she's never forgotten anything in her life. She pulls a small piece of paper from her bag, where, in her neat cursive, she's written out a list of various food joints, amusements and events for the three to attend. Bucky takes the list and skims over it, nodding his head in agreement to some of the plans.

"Another dance at St Bernard Parish? I thought you and Steve just went to one?" Bucky asks, pointing to _Christmas Eve dance_ on the list in confusion.

"We did, but we can go to a dance more than once a year, Bucky. I thought we could go to the Christmas Eve dance this year since we have the money for the tickets. Also, it's the day after my birthday, so I feel like it should be my choice. There'll be mistletoe and gingerbread and mulled wine..." Isabel presses, trying to convince Bucky with a cheesy smile on her face.

"You're very convincing, I will admit. But that's a dance for Catholics, and in a Catholic church? Steve is the only Irish-Catholic here," Bucky points out.

"I understand that, but no one else knows that. It's not like we're openly Jewish or anything. We're half and half. We count."

Bucky shrugs. He knows Steve isn't overly fond of dancing, but he never rejects the idea. Bucky thinks he just likes spending time with his friends. Bucky, on the other hand, was convinced at the first mention of the idea.

"If there's dancing and dames, I'm in," Bucky smirks, handing the list back to Isabel who looks proud of her planning.

When the waitress returns with their meals, Bucky flirts just a bit more before they're left to eat in near-silence, comfortable in each other's company. Bucky seems to inhale his food, making almost inappropriate noises of satisfaction with every bite, and Isabel can't really blame him; she doubts they ever got burgers and fries at basic. When Steve can't eat anymore of his own burger, Bucky takes it from his plate and eats that too.

* * *

Later that evening, back in the comfort of their apartment, Bucky slides on the couch next to Isabel, who is trying to construct the typical exploding volcano science project for Robbie's science class. Robbie, like a typical boy, came to her only hours before saying he needed to do it by the following morning. Isabel had helped him get the materials out, but he'd grown bored within ten minutes and had locked himself in the boys' room to read, leaving Isabel to make it all alone.

"You should be doing this, you're the one who likes science," Isabel says. "Here, help me get this inside the volcano."

"Sure." She hands Bucky the cup of baking soda, and he proceeds to pat it down carefully inside. He remembers making his own version of a volcano in his own year nine science class. He'd placed first in the competition.

Isabel gets out some paint and begins slapping brown onto the outside of the volcano, a job that Steve would most likely cringe at. "Why do I always get stuck helping the twins with their homework?" She grumbles, grabbing the red paint and flicking it around the opening at the top of the paper-mache volcano.

"So, Steve told me that he found out you're going with Danny? Bucky asks conversationally, concentrating on the baking soda.

"Yeah, he found out at the hall. Danny was drunk and tried to get me dance with him, but he was just about ready to pass out, so..." Isabel trails off, and Bucky gets the picture.

"How'd he take it?"

"Steve? I think he was a little upset I didn't tell him and I feel terrible about it now. I just didn't say anything because I didn't know where Danny and I were going at the start."

"But you two are still going steady?"

It takes Isabel a moment to answer. "Yeah. We're, uh…pretty serious."

"How is Danny? Is he good?" Bucky asks sincerely.

"Mmhmm," Isabel says. "I met his parents the other night. They were really lovely, but I felt so out of place. They live on the Upper East Side, Buck. They're so wealthy, you and I could probably never imagine how much money they have. Their apartment was absolutely stunning."

"That didn't answer about Danny, that answered about Danny's money," Bucky laughs. "Either way, he sounds nice. But I want to meet him, be the judge of him."

"Bucky, I'm not ten years old. I don't need you chasing off the boys for me," Isabel berates.

"I'm not chasing anyone off. I just need to make sure he's right for you."

"Well, I appreciate the gesture, but it isn't necessary," Isabel reassures, deeming the volcano good enough and gathering up the paint. "You're only back for less than twelve hours and you're already causing trouble," she chuckles.

"I'm not causing trouble, I'm trying to protect you," Bucky argues, stopping Isabel from getting up by putting a hand on her arm. "Just answer my question, Is. I need to know that when I leave for the war you'll always have someone to look after you, someone you want to be with. I'm your older brother and you're my family, and one of my best friends. It's my right and my responsibility to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Bucky, that isn't your problem, you don't have to worry yourself about me," Isabel tries to reassure, but Bucky cuts her off.

"Do you think he's right for you? Do you love him?" Bucky asks bluntly.

Isabel's jaw drops as she stares at him, wide-eyed. It takes her another moment to form her answer. "Buck, don't ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Because… Because I don't want to answer. I don't want to talk about that. I don't have to if I don't want to," Isabel disregards him, standing up with the paint and moving to the kitchen sink to wash out the brush. The running water is loud as she roughly rinses out the brush, splashing water on the counter.

"But why? Do you not have an answer?" Bucky asks, moving to stand beside her at the sink.

"I don't know," Isabel says, putting her face in her water-covered hand. "Buck, I haven't thought about this sort of stuff."

"But why?" Bucky pushes. "Isn't that what people do when they're pretty serious. Think about their future together?"

Isabel shrugs, looking frustrated at her brother's questions. "I don't know anything, Bucky. We've only known each other a few months, it's hardly long enough to know whether I want to spend my life with him."

"It would be long enough if he was right for you. But that isn't really what we're talking about, Belle. At least not my first question. We weren't talking about a long-term commitment, I was asking if you're sweet on him and if you think he's right for you." Bucky pauses, looking at his sister's stressed face for a moment. "So that's it? You can't imagine a life with him?"

"Something just feels off. Like it isn't meant to be. But it should be right, he should be right for me. I don't know," Isabel says quietly. With another shrug of her shoulders she walks away, closing the door to her bedroom before Bucky can refute.

* * *

A/N: Poor Bucky. He returns home from a terrible time at basic training only to find that it isn't all sunshine and rainbows back in Brooklyn the way he expected it to be. I just love protective older brother Bucky, almost as much as I love flirty, womanizer Bucky. Maybe just give me all types of Bucky? Then I'd be happy no matter what day of the week it was ;) And Isabel, boy is she having some doubts. If you haven't noticed, I like to torture my characters just a little bit.


	14. Chapter 13

**13.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **September 19** **th** **, 1942**

On a Sunday afternoon, Bucky and Isabel make their way down to the waterfront markets in Brooklyn Heights, stopping by Steve's apartment to pick him up on the way. The market is situated right on the pier under Brooklyn Bridge with a beautiful view of Manhattan across the river. It's bustling with visitors, many with their arms loaded with shopping bags or with hands dealing with misbehaving children.

The market sells a variety of things – clothing, trinkets, books, and produce among them, but Isabel and Bucky are on a strict budget, aiming to buy as much fresh produce and groceries as possible for under four dollars. Normally the family has a little more leeway with money, but earlier in the week they'd shelled out the cash for a new sofa set to replace the moth-ridden one that stood in the lounge room beforehand. Steve has a list as well that Sarah's written, but the list is short and simple because he's only got a budget of two dollars and the Barnes siblings know not to try to offer him any money. Sarah's wage has never been much, but it's gotten them by.

Isabel had invited Danny to come for the day out and meet her brother and friend, but he'd turned down the offer. She hadn't told the boys that he'd actually said he refused to visit such "destitute affairs", a comment that hadn't sat well with her. Danny was well aware that she didn't come from the wealthiest family in the neighbourhood and markets like these served as a sole source of obtaining affordable produce and clothing from local sellers. Instead, she'd told Bucky and Steve he had prior family commitments, just another thing that doesn't bode well with her - having to lie to her family for Danny.

Isabel chooses not to think about Danny living it up somewhere in rich Manhattan, instead taking the time to appreciate her brother's company, something she's sorely missed during his time at basic. The three stroll through the market stalls, quickly checking off the items on their lists and their arms getting more loaded.

After close to an hour, they reach the other end of the stalls, and a tent-like structure covered in tacky velvet purple curtains in the far distance of the market catches Steve's attention, a large sign bearing "Soothsayer" over the top and small pamphlets stapled to the curtain by the entrance.

"Soothsayer?" Steve reads aloud the sign above the tent, just as the purple curtain opens and a young woman steps out, looking surprised. "Like a fortune-teller?"

"I guess so," Isabel says from beside him as she deposits the last of their change back into her purse, a brown paper bag nestled under one arm. "Don't they do tarot and palm readings and see through crystal balls?"

"I think so," Steve says, contemplating, before leading the way over to the purple monstrosity. "Let's go check it out."

"Oh, please," Bucky laughs, following behind them. "You don't really believe in all that chicken shit, do you? It's just a money-making scheme, is all it is."

"Like the shooting galley that you won both me and Connie teddies on?" Isabel frowns at her brother, before reading the scattering of pamphlets and finally finding one with the pricing listed. "It's free," she smirks at them and ducks inside the open curtain doorway. Steve gives Bucky a _why the hell not_ shrug and enters too. Bucky rolls his eyes and files in behind them, closing the curtain behind himself.

Inside the curtain tent seems just as tacky as the outside. The edging has a scattering of bookcases with worn books filling the shelves, and a mismatch of furniture that houses hundreds of lit wax candles. In the middle of the tent sits a middle-aged woman, her black hair hiding underneath a colourful scarf wrapped elegantly around her head. Rings and bracelets hang off her fingers and wrists, each one housing its own colourful gem, and beautiful stone necklaces adorn her chest over the top of baggy, Mediterranean-style clothing. In front of her is a small round table with picture cards laid out in patterns.

"Welcome," says the fortune-teller, beckoning for the three to take a seat at the cushioned seats around her round table. They all put their groceries down on the ground beside their chairs. "What can I do for you?"

"Is it true you can see the future?" Isabel asks.

"I can understand a few of nature's infinite secrets," the woman smirks as though it's an inside joke.

"Uh, okay. How does it work?" Isabel is perched precariously in her seat, soaking up the soothsayer's every word with excitement.

"I find palm reading to be the easiest." The soothsayer reaches out to her hand. "Who wants a reading?"

Isabel eagerly thrusts her hand toward the fortune-teller, who takes it gently. Her eyes close as she runs her fingers along the lines of Isabel's palm.

"You are quite hard to read," the fortune-teller says, looking up into Isabel's eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Isabel tries, earning a small smile from the woman.

"You're a nurse," the soothsayer says. She sounds sure of her prediction, but Isabel still answers "yes" as though it were a question, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You have been made for healing. You are soft, gentle and kind. You are a healer. It will send you many places and in turn, you will see and learn many things. You will know the very best of the world, and the very worst."

The fortune teller is silent, allowing Isabel to digest this information. "True love follows you, but you won't realise you have found it until you are situated in a place of evil and sorrow. It will be a light in the darkness for you. Hold onto it."

Isabel shifts uncomfortably. "Do you know who I will love?"

"That is for you to find out. You will know in time." The fortune-teller shifts in her seat, her eyes still closed. "You will find love, and you will lose others. Some things you lose will return to you, others will not. Remember to appreciate everything around you. One day, it may be gone."

As if snapping out of a daze, the woman sits upright and releases Isabel's hand. "That is all I have for you for today. Anyone else?"

"Well that was pleasant," Isabel mumbles sarcastically.

She gets up to switch seats with Steve, who gives his hand to the woman immediately.

"You're sick often, aren't you?" The woman asks immediately. Bucky snorts and mutters about understatements. "But you are also a fighter. It's a pity you don't think about things before you rush headfirst into them. One day, it may be your downfall."

Steve gives the woman an awed look, ignoring the smug _'told you so'_ smirk coming from both Isabel and Bucky.

"The war has come to America, and you will want to fight in it. You will get your wish. It won't be in the way you're expecting, but you will have your chance. You will be expected to exhibit two very different personalities; remember to distinguish them from each other. They will not be the same person."

Steve nearly falls out of his chair, Isabel looks disbelieving and terrified, and in the corner, Bucky stiffens at the woman's words. He remembers his father's comforting hand on his shoulder as he said America would not be involved in the war, that Bucky wouldn't go. That obviously hadn't turned out to be true, and surely if Bucky is going to war, Steve will too? The worrying part is about the unusual circumstances.

Bucky jolts when Steve nudges his shoulder to get his attention. "Give her your hand to read, Buck," Steve says, seeming extremely chipper at the news he's just been granted.

Bucky looks extremely sceptical and like he wants to bolt, but he gives his hand anyway, which the fortune-teller takes gently. "Give me a good fortune, ma'am."

"I don't make fortunes, I only see them. And I prefer to call them outcomes."

"Then see a good outcome for me."

The woman stares long and hard at the lines of his skin, running a single finger over them slowly. "Your future is extremely complicated. So are your friends', but yours more so. All of your lifelines are split, indicating you will live in two distinct times. That your lives will change drastically at some point. But yours… Yours is split multiple times."

"What does that mean?"

The fortune teller thinks for a moment. "I don't know. I've never seen anything of the like before." Bucky frowns, looking down at his hand. "You are similar to your friend, but you will go to war for a longer period of time than him."

"What if I don't go? What if I don't show up at the docks the day I'm called to service?"

"Well I assume you'd be found, penalised, and sent anyway. That much is a given from the rules, child." She pauses to sigh. "You must know that the future is not always set in stone. The littlest thing can change the course of history. But generally, fate will find a way to keep you on your destined course. What I see for you, that is what will happen, most likely. Not a lot you can do will change it."

Bucky huffs in frustration, pushing his bangs back off his forehead.

The soothsayer seems as though she might wrap up Bucky's reading, looking hesitant, but as though she wants to say more. "What is it?" Bucky pushes.

The soothsayer takes a deep, steadying breathe. She opens her eyes and looks at Bucky solemnly. "On February 1st, 1945, you will have the option to board a train. You need to be on it. It leaves at 10.43am sharp, so don't be late. Get on it and follow it to the end of the line."

"I need to get on a train? Why?"

The soothsayer grows extremely serious. "It is imperative. Be on that train, James."

"Wait," Bucky breathes. "How do you know my name?"

"I know things, James Buchanan Barnes. Although, your friends call you Bucky, right? Was it because of your front teeth when you were little? I see you've grown into them now. Or was it because as a child, "Buchanan" was too hard for you sister to pronounce, so it became "Bucky"?"

Bucky's mouth makes a small 'o' in disbelief as he stares, wide-eyed at the lady. "Both."

"I see you still like to go by that nickname, don't like anyone calling you James. Strange. Your mother, though, she calls you James sometimes and you allow it."

"Well she named me. She can call me whatever she likes," Bucky says, chuckling despite what he's being told.

"I see," the fortune-teller says, before letting go of Bucky's hand. "I think that's enough for today."

"Agreed," Bucky says.

The three quickly gather up their groceries and leave the tent, looking a little shell-shocked. Bucky the most, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth a fine line.

After the three young adults file out of the tent, the fortune-teller leans her elbows on the round table and lets her head hang in her hands. It had been against her better judgement to continue the readings for them, considering the darkness and torment awaiting them. As a fortune teller, she isn't supposed to harm her clients. She's supposed to guide them, give them information that will lead them to a peaceful existence. Their readings though... What she had seen had not been peaceful, and bending the truth to make it so had been impossible.

She'd seen odd flashes of images that made no sense, of things she couldn't even name. Flashes of a metal arm and a metal chair, a brightly coloured shield, the three of them walking through dense forest with rifles raised, and then again on wide grassy plains in an unknown country. She'd seen flashes of large planes and odd-looking cars, creatures she couldn't fathom in her wildest imagination, as well as a different version of New York City with fluorescent lights and moving pictures on every street corner, and people wearing the oddest of clothing.

She shakes the images away, trying to forget them. They're causing her to develop a headache the more she thinks of them and tries to make sense of them. She sighs, removing the scarf from her head and running a hand over her dark hair.

If she could, she would make bargains with beings to alter their course. But she can't, because she has no way to bargain. Instead, she had told young Bucky that he had to be on the train that would secure his fate, and had told the Rogers boy he would be going to war. She curses that she could not lie, could not send them on another path, that she is the one who will be known for sending James Barnes and Steve Rogers to their respective "deaths". But even if there had been another path for him to take, fate surely would not give.

She curses that the fate of Steve Rogers, James Barnes and Isabel Barnes are set in stone, and there's nothing she can do.

* * *

A/N: An interesting turn of events, the poor psychic knows exactly what is going to happen to the Isabel, Bucky and Steve. I was prompted to write this chapter both by a scene in Outlander and by one of the first acts of Shakespeare's _Antony and Cleopatra_ , which I read for a university assignment.

Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favourited and reviewed this story, your support means endless amounts to me! Please continue to review so I know what you're enjoying about the story :)


	15. Chapter 14

**14.**

 **Brooklyn, New York**

 **September 23** **rd** **, 1942**

Isabel knocks loudly on the door to the Rogers' apartment so that Steve can hear, waiting patiently as the sound of footsteps comes closer and the door opens before her. She is greeted by Sarah Rogers, who's face lights up at the sight of her almost-adopted daughter.

"Isabel, darling!" She cries, pulling the young girl into a hug. "It's been so long!"

"I know! I'm so sorry, Mrs. Rogers. Work has been busy lately and Bucky just got home from basic so we've had a lot of catching up to do."

"I understand, hon. But it's been so long since you last visited, you've forgotten that you're supposed to call me Sarah!" She laughs lightly, then coughs, covering her mouth with her hand. "Never mind, come on in. Steve is in his room still getting ready. You know he isn't much of a morning person."

"But it's three in the afternoon?"

"He had a rough night," Sarah explains. "And before you offer to check on him, I already looked after him through the night. It's just the change of seasons flaring up his asthma and his iron levels have been very low lately. He needs to eat some more nutritious meals."

"Okay, if you're sure," Isabel agrees.

"Just be on the look out for an asthma attack, he keeps forgetting his asthma cigarettes when he goes out," Sarah tells her.

Isabel takes a seat at the dining room table after being motioned to by Sarah, who begins to boil the kettle on the stove. Their dinner is already roasting in the oven, another pot over the flame with vegetables simmering. Sarah moves slowly around the kitchen, almost brittle in her movements which doesn't escape Isabel's attention.

Isabel looks away so she isn't staring, taking the time to look around the apartment. She hasn't been to the Rogers' apartment for quite a while, but it's always nice to return because it looks exactly the same as she remembers from when she was younger. While the Barnes' used to live in a much more lavish house before the Depression, the Rogers' have always inhabited this apartment. It is very similar to the Barnes family's, as well as to many other apartments around Brooklyn. It consists mainly of one large, open space with two bedrooms veering off from the main space and a bathroom between them. A tiny kitchen and dining table sit in one corner near the door, the living room situated further into the apartment containing a small two-piece sofa set, coffee table, large fireplace and a bookshelf in the corner. The Rogers' don't have many possessions, but the place is welcoming, homely, and lived in. Isabel notes the assortment of Steve's drawings scattered around on every available surface, framed by Mrs. Rogers, most of them pieces Steve did in art classes that have no price on them for sale.

Sarah stirs the coffees and places one in front of Isabel, earning a thanks. She takes a seat opposite Isabel, her own coffee warming her hands. She seems slightly puffed, taking a second to catch her breath. "How's work going? Are you still enjoying it?"

"It sounds strange but despite the hardships and how emotional it can get, I love it. There are some downsides to nursing, as you know, but generally it's very rewarding," Isabel answers, taking a sip of her drink. The coffee is extremely sweet, the way Sarah Rogers has always made it, with three teaspoons of sugar.

"I heard about your experience with that soldier," Sarah mentions sympathetically. Isabel's eyes snap up. "Not from Steve, though he did tell me later that he knew. The other nurses told me. They were all shaken up by it, but said you were the most. It's common with those sorts of patients, don't worry. It's hard, and I guess it really makes the fighting seem close to home."

"Yeah, it does," Isabel agrees.

Sarah takes a sip of her coffee, and Isabel watches carefully and discreetly, noting her appearance. The wrinkles on her forehead, around her eyes, and her smile lines are more prominent than Isabel remembers them being before - though life has been so hectic that she's hardly seen Mrs. Rogers in the last two years, not the way she used to when they were all the school and they would pop into each other's apartments for an after-school snack and to do homework. Sarah's skin is extremely pale with almost a grey sheen. She's worryingly thin, her blonde hair rather wispy and flat, and her eyes seem to lack their usual sparkle. She looks unwell, as though she has a cold or a virus, and she has a worryingly tight, phlegmy cough. She also moves very slowly, getting puffed from small amounts of exertion. Isabel makes a mental note to ask Steve about it.

"So, what else have you been doing with your time?" Sarah asks, a sly smile sliding onto her features. "Have you been dating anyone?"

Isabel almost spits out her coffee in surprise, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. Her cheeks blush profusely.

"Maybe," she says vaguely, smiling at Sarah. "Why is everyone so interested in my love life?"

"Well, honey, that's the kind of thing people talk about. You aren't a teenager anymore, people are curious as to who you're going to settle down with. And it's kind of imperative that a woman marries. It's hard to get by in the world otherwise."

"Women don't have to marry, Sarah," Isabel reminds her. "I work a respectable job and earn a reasonable wage. I could get by on my own if I wished."

"I know you could, darl. But life is awfully lonely without someone beside you."

"I don't doubt that," Isabel says, feeling as though the eyes of Joseph Rogers in the photograph behind her on the wall are staring into her back.

"Tell me about him," Sarah demands. "You're sweet on him?"

"Yeah, I guess," Isabel says. "He's a nice man from a lovely family. He's pretty swell."

"That's it?" Sarah asks, obviously hoping for more information. "Come on, let's have some girl talk," Sarah pushes, a slight gleam in her baby blues.

Isabel shakes her head, sighing, a smile stretching across her features. "Okay fine. But it isn't all sunshine and roses," Isabel warns

"No relationship is, sweetheart."

"He's funny and kind, and always tries hard to be a gentleman. We get along really well, we have similar interests in books and films."

"I'm sensing a but…" Sarah pushes.

"I really can't fault him, Sarah. He's lovely. The only "but" is that we have very different lives. He comes from a rich family and they aren't very close, whereas my family is poor, but we're very tight-knit. He sort of... looks down on my family for not having much money, but I guess he doesn't know any better, his father is the same. He was a jock at high school, on the football team. He was very popular, which I wasn't, so he has a lot of friends that he's kept, even now. He works full time during the week, and then he likes to spend time with them every weekend, going out drinking with his teammates, and doesn't spend a lot of time with me."

"He's young, love, he'll come around. One day he'll wake up and realise he's wasting his time by not spending it with a doll such as yourself."

"Well I hope so," Isabel laughs. "Otherwise I'd still be very lonely."

"How long have you been together?"

"Not very long, around seven months," Isabel guesses. She carefully looks around to make sure Steve isn't listening, but the door to his room is still closed.

"Is he very handsome?" Sarah asks.

At that question, Isabel finds herself surprised, her mind imagining large baby blues and golden hair and long eyelashes as opposed to Danny's light brown, shaggy hair and almond shaped, green eyes. "Very," she breathes, realising she hasn't answered. "He's–,"

Isabel stops abruptly when the door to Steve's bedroom opens and Steve emerges, dressed in slacks and a woollen shirt, and with a jacket hung over his arm. His hair is perfectly styled with not a hair out of place.

"Uh, hi Steve," Isabel says quickly, her cheeks heating up again as she hopes Steve hadn't heard. Sarah looks curiously between her son and Isabel, trying to understand Isabel's reaction, a confused frown perched on her features.

"Hey, Issy," Steve says. "I thought before we have dinner in a few hours, I'd spent some time sketching in the park across the street. Wanna come?"

"Yeah, sure," Isabel says, jumping up to escape the surprised and almost-knowing look on Mrs. Rogers' face.

"We'll be back in a while, Ma," Steve says.

"Be in by six," Sarah calls as they escape out the door.

Neither of the friends say much as they ascend the stairs. Stepping out of the lobby sees them blasted by the unusually cold air, and they wrap themselves a little tighter in their thin jackets. They walk side by side down the footpath a few buildings down before reaching a busy neighbourhood park. There are a few food vendors set up along one edge and a newspaper stand shouts out to passers-by in a loud, rough voice.

There is a small hill at the other edge of the park which they make for, underneath the canopy of the trees which almost entirely block out the view of the buildings around them. The park has a tranquillity that invokes a sense of freedom and of being away from the city, which is a welcome change for the two young adults who have rarely, if ever, left it. Steve finds his desired spot, not far from the tiny pond by the edge of the hill, dumping his art backpack onto the mound of grass and taking a seat beside it. Isabel carefully sits next to him, covering her legs with the length of her thick skirt to fight off the cold and wrapping herself tighter in her knitted jumper.

Generally, Steve only likes to sketch in Central Park over in Manhattan, since its bigger and busier with more objects to draw, but that activity is saved only for the summer months since too much cold air flares up his asthma. Today has been unusually cool, but only going down the street makes it easier to return if he starts to feel that familiar tightness in his chest. Isabel sometimes goes along with Steve to Central Park when she has a day off, not just to keep him company but also to experience the park itself. It's an ever-changing landscape that looks significantly different no matter what day they visit. There's always something new to see and experience, and it's a break from a rather monotonous life of working and coming home.

Steve pulls one of his sketchbooks from his bag and his graphite pencils, flipping quickly past used pages with drawings of people and landscapes to a blank sheet. He brushes the blank page with one hand, adjusts his grip on his pencil, and then starts to look in front of him for something or someone to draw.

"What are you going to draw?" Isabel asks, watching as a business man rushes past them, briefcase in hand, obviously hurrying to get home from work.

"Them, over there," Steve says absentmindedly, his hand already gliding over the page. "The mother with the child, holding the kite."

Steve draws quickly, the sketch taking on a likeness to the scene within minutes. The child is drawn first, the kite in his grubby little hands and his expression one of utter joy. Then, Steve adds the mother, her arms protectively encircling her child and her face one of love and devotion, laughing as she looks up into the sky. Isabel sits patiently, breathing in the cool, fresh air, and watches as the child runs along with his kite, making it fly higher and higher into the air. It narrowly avoids getting lodged in one of the trees, making Isabel laugh when the mother quickly yanks it down. Her eyes flick every now and then to the drawing, more detailed and darker with shading every time.

Steve never announces when he's finished a drawing. Rather, he just flips the page and starts a new one, either finding himself a new subject or taking interest in something Isabel points out. Isabel lays back after a while, looking up at the faint orange light streaming between the branches of the trees above. The sun is setting slowly, disappearing behind the surrounding buildings and putting a hazy ambience over the park. She listens in contentment to the birdsong in the trees, the rustle of the leaves, the laughter of children, and the scratch of Steve's pencils, and eventually finds herself dozing off, only vaguely aware of the sounds around her.

* * *

She awakens with a jolt when Steve shuffles next to her, adjusting his position on the hard ground. "What time is it?" She asks groggily.

Steve checks his wristwatch. "4.37," Steve says. "You've only been dozing for about twenty minutes."

"Oh, sorry," Isabel chuckles, the disorientation starting to wear off. "Good company, I am."

"You're always good company," Steve says sincerely, turning to smile at her. "Even when you're snoring."

"I don't snore!" Isabel protests in mock offence, smacking Steve gently in the shoulder and eliciting a cheerful laugh from Steve. She lets him draw for a few more minutes before she remembers about Sarah's appearance today and that nasty cough she can't get out of her mind. "So, your Mom looked really unwell today," Isabel observes.

"I know," Steve sighs, staring down at a new piece of paper he has turned to. "She's been looking like that for a few weeks now. We had a doctor come out the other day to check on her."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

Steve shrugs. "Ma said she didn't want to bother you. Anyway, the doctor went in, took her temperature and that – I'm not really sure, I stayed in the kitchen. Anyway, she told me after that he'd said it was just a virus. Promised me that if she didn't get any better, she'd get a second opinion. But she's a nurse, you know, she knows what she's doing."

Isabel doesn't reply, instead trying to envision the way Sarah had looked this morning. The grey, pasty pallor to her skin, the limpness of her hair, that almost constant cough that she'd tried to hide. "Perhaps it is a cold or the flu, or maybe she just hasn't been eating well and she's down on some nutrients. It's hard to diagnose someone without examining them. Are you sure you don't want me to have a look?" She offers.

"I appreciate it, but really, it's okay. Ma says she feels fine, maybe just a little run down. She's still going to work, so it can't be that bad. She'll be okay."

"Yeah, she's a fighter," Isabel agrees. She tries to remember whether she'd seen Sarah around at the hospital. Normally they cross paths quite frequently in the break room or when they're scheduled on in the same ward. She can't remember seeing her.

Steve lets the conversation drop, picking up his sketchbook again, but the paper is blank. He seems to be looking out at the park again, but not seeing anything of interest.

After about ten minutes of Steve searching, Isabel suggests, "Maybe we should move somewhere else? You've probably drawn this whole park twenty times over by now."

"Can I draw you instead?"

Isabel pauses. Steve, of course, draws her and Bucky all the time as practise and she is aware of it. Only difference is, they generally don't know that he's drawing them until he shows them the finished product. Steve is normally very silent about his drawing, imagining someone in a certain position rather than asking them to pose. He draws them as they're moving around or reading, otherwise distracted from the fact Steve's subtly drawing them.

Bucky is much more open to being photographed and drawn by Steve, more than happy to pose as a model. That's how he ended up at Steve's art class back in December. Steve's sketchbook is full of still-life sketches of Bucky in posed situations, holding random props or wearing certain clothes, making a certain expression with his face or smiling directly at Steve. The few that Isabel has seen of herself – not that Steve openly shows them to her often but she's caught glimpses – are of her actually moving or doing things, like reading a book or dancing around the living room with Bucky. She never knows he's drawing her, so she always looks natural and relaxed. Bucky can look that way, like he's relaxed, even in a posed situation. Winifred always said he should have become a star in Hollywood, he's always been comfortable in front of the camera, the centre of attention at any event. It's part of his charm.

Isabel decides maybe she should try her hand at posing like Bucky does. "Okay."

"Okay," Steve beams, turning around to face Isabel.

"What do you want me to do?" Isabel asks, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Steve is already putting pen to paper.

"Just do what you were doing before," Steve waves off her nervousness. "Talk to me or something. Try to look relaxed."

Isabel does as she's told, going back to looking out at the park. There's more business people in the park now, business men and shopkeepers and retail workers cutting through the park toward their respective apartments. The children have all been called inside to prepare for dinner, and the park has suddenly lost its friendliness, feeling a little lonely.

Every now and then she glances at Steve through the corner of her eyes, seeing him hunched down over the book. When she chances a peek down at the sketchbook, the drawing of her is already sketched out, the outline of her face appearing on the white paper. Steve is beginning the shading and textures, the pencil swooping across the drawing's jawline. He notices her looking and pulls the sketchbook toward him.

"No peeking," he berates.

"Fine," Isabel yields. "But don't you have to look at your subject more? You've hardly looked up at me," Isabel observes, noticing that Steve has only actually looked at her once or twice for a second or so the whole time he's been drawing.

"You don't really need to observe your subject if you've known them nearly your whole life," Steve says, the tips of his ears turning a little bit red. "I know what you look like. It's really only just for the lighting and that."

"Oh."

Another twenty minutes or so passes and finally Steve puts down his pencil, looking critically at the drawing.

"Can I see yet?" Isabel asks impatiently, but Steve shakes his head, hiding the drawing from her sight.

"It isn't finished yet," Steve says, erasing some parts before picking up the pencil again. "So, you were telling my Mom about Danny?"

Isabel feels like she chokes on any words in her mouth, her cheeks heating up embarrassingly. She looks away from Steve, eyes widened in disbelief. Another person interested in her love life. _This is just getting better and better_. "Well she did ask."

Steve's interest looks peaked, though Isabel thinks she sees a flash of disappointment spread across his face. "I still haven't met him, not properly, and neither has Bucky," he says, a little bit accusingly.

"Because we all haven't done anything together."

"I know. But we've invited him a few times now and he hasn't come out." Steve pauses, seemingly coming up with his question carefully. "Is there something about him you don't want us to know? You sounded a little... unsure when you were speaking to Ma."

"What? No. Did Bucky put you up to this? This older brother act?" Isabel asks slowly. She feels a slight hope in the pit of her stomach that maybe Steve is interested in knowing about her relationship with Danny because he really is hoping she'll leave Danny for him. Of course, she's being silly, because those sorts of things don't happen in real life.

"Of course not. I mean, Bucky's talked about it because he's worried. But no, I put myself up to it. I've just never heard you talk about a guy like that in a while, not even when you dated Jacob Hemmings in tenth grade - I think you found him more annoying than anything. Anyway, obviously you and Danny are pretty serious, like you said, and as your…" Steve pauses, seemingly forcing the words out, "adopted brother, I feel like I need to help Bucky out in fending off the boys if they aren't good enough for you."

Isabel laughs at her own stupidity, at how silly she was to think Steve would think of her as anything else other than the younger sister he never had. She silently thanks God above that she hadn't admitted that it was him she talked about. "Right," she says through her laughter. "I appreciate the concern, but I can look after myself, Steve."

"I know you can, but you shouldn't have to."

"Well that is why I'm with Danny, is it not? So he can look after me?"

"I guess so," Steve decides, sounding a little dejected. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, we are," Isabel says, though her voice isn't as convincing as she's hoped. If Steve is so interested in who's she's sweet on, he obviously doesn't want it to be him. Besides, he only just said that he thought of Isabel as a sister. She feels her heartbreak just a little, and she doesn't even understand why because she's doing it all to herself.

"Good, I'm glad. That's all that matters to me," Steve decides. He puts down his pencil, examines the drawing once more, then turns it to face Isabel. "Finished." A genuine smile has returned to his face, as if he feels relieved or something, all evidence of the coldness in his voice from before gone.

Isabel carefully takes the sketchbook from his hands, putting it down in her lap. The graphite drawing is of her profile as she looks out to the park beyond. She looks tiny and uncomfortable, hunched over her knees as she protectively holds them into her chest. Her hair is curled, the hair at the front of her head pinned back from her face with a sparkling silver clip. The rest of her hair flutters in the slight wind. Her lips are dark and plump, reflecting her red lipstick, her eyes a medium grey colour, and her eyebrows dark and thick, forming a slight frown. Despite the frown though, she really does look more beautiful in the picture than she knows she is. Steve is an amazingly talented artist, but he always manages to make her look better than she truly does.

"Why am I frowning?" She asks Steve. "Do I always look like that?"

"Not always," Steve laughs. "You and Bucky have the same expression when you're thinking and that. I call it your brooding face."

"It's really lovely," she smiles at Steve, handing him back the sketchbook.

Steve looks at the drawing again, then back at Isabel, then the drawing again. He flips the page over to the one before, then turns the book to show her. It's another drawing of her, in a similar position. Except, this one she hadn't known he was drawing. She looks comfortable and content, sitting back on her hands, her skirt flaring out in front of her. She has a relaxed smirk on her face, her eyes bright.

"So, that's what I look like when I don't know you're drawing me…" Isabel mumbles, unable to get over how her entire demeanour seemed to change once she knew she had an audience.

"They're both you," Steve tells her. "Not everyone is happy all of the time." Steve flips between the two drawings critically. He stops on the staged portrait and takes a second to draw a few more lines around the mouth, then turns the drawing back to her so that Isabel can see that the drawing of her now has the corners of her mouth turned upward in a slight smile rather than an almost scowl. "Now, it's perfect."

* * *

A/N: Hmm, so even Steve and Sarah can see through Isabel's relationship with Danny. It's a pity Isabel hasn't put all the pieces of the puzzle together as well. There's some hints in this chapter as to what will happen in the next, so prepare yourselves.

Thanks again to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed! Please feel free to continue reviewing - tell me what you like, what you don't like, what you're thinking so far. :)


	16. Chapter 15

**15.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **October 10** **th** **, 1942**

When there is a knock at the door of the Barnes residence, it takes a while for anyone to answer. Mr. Barnes is at work, as he so often is these days, and Mrs. Barnes is making the weekly trip to the Farmer's Market.

Bucky is sat on the fire escape outside the girls' bedroom window soaking up the last days of warmish fall air before winter sets in. He is drawing anything he sees from his vantage point, or at least attempting to, trying to practice his artwork so that when he is out in the field he can do little drawings of the places he goes to send back to Steve and the family. He knows his work will never be as good as Steve's, but maybe the drawings will help with describing what it's like along with his written word. Since Steve is evidently not going overseas with him, he wants to give Steve a bit of insight, let him live his fantasy in some way.

The knock grows persistently louder and eventually, a voice calls out from the other side, muffled through the thick wood. Robert and Becca emerge from the boys' room, the book they had been reading abandoned on the bed. Despite being told not to open the door to strangers, the twins relent upon realising who is knocking by their voice. Poor Steve isn't the stranger they'd thought, and pull they door open to stop his persistent banging. Steve's face is red, his breathing is shallow, and he looks distraught.

"I'm going to get Bucky," Robert says immediately, disappearing down the hallway just as Becca asks Steve if he is okay. She takes Steve's thin hand before he can protest and drags him to the kitchen table, pushing him into the closest chair.

"I'm sorry we didn't answer the door. Mommy says we aren't allowed to open the door to strangers. We didn't know it was you until you yelled." When Steve begins to cough, Becca clumsily pours him a glass of water from the sink and hands it to him.

Bucky appears in the kitchen, running through the doorway. "Steve? What's wrong? What happened?" He takes in Steve's rumpled appearance and watery eyes.

Steve wheezes, and then a harsh, hacking cough escapes his lungs, and Bucky wishes that Isabel was there because she's always been better at dealing with Steve's asthma. Bucky leads Steve over to the ice box, rubbing his back as he breathes in the cold air. The cold is a trigger for Steve's asthma but Bucky needs to get Steve's core temperature down, which has skyrocketed with his exertion and is making his asthma worsen. The twins stand in the doorway, eyes wide and curious.

"Go to your rooms, Steve's just not feeling well," Bucky reassures. They leave without question and Bucky can just hear the low murmur of Robert reading the novel aloud from where they'd left off.

Within minutes, Steve's breathing calms and he is back in the chair, wiping at his sweaty face with a handkerchief Bucky found in his back pocket.

"What were you doing to make yourself so sick? Don't you know better than to run laps around the borough in this weather?" Bucky demands, exasperated with Steve for pushing himself too hard. The weather in New York is severe enough to make Steve sick without him running around town.

"Ma," Steve breaths. "She hasn't felt well for months… Told me everything was fine. Thought it was a virus… Isabel knows she's been sick. Had to call an ambulance for her, she couldn't breathe. Found her passed out on the floor." Steve takes a deep breath, his lungs burning. "The ambulance came and took her away, but they wouldn't let me in the truck. Told me there wasn't enough room, I had to meet them there. They wouldn't tell me what they thought was wrong, just told me to get there quickly. It's bad, Buck. It must be. I-I didn't know what to do, so I ran here because its on the way, and– and–" Steve's breathing picks up again rapidly and Bucky surges forward, hushing him to calm him down.

Bucky's heart feels like its skipping a beat. Sarah Rogers has been working on and off in the tuberculosis ward for months now, and one doesn't work around such a potent disease without risking contracting it.

"I'll come to the hospital with you. Isabel's there working, maybe she knows what's going on," Bucky offers, level-headed as usual but unsure of what else they can do to help. Whatever is happening to Sarah, it isn't good. The suspense is already eating away at Bucky; he can't imagine how Steve is feeling.

"Please," Steve nods. "I'm normally the sick one, I don't really know what to do."

"Ma will be home real soon, Becca and Robbie will be okay until then," Bucky decides. He grabs a set of apartment keys and his wallet from the pocket of his other slacks, tells the twins where he is going and to not get into trouble, and slams the door behind them on their way out.

* * *

Isabel sits in the break room, revelling in the feeling of taking the weight off her feet. She sips on a cup of coffee and eats a sandwich she bought from the cafeteria, flicking through the newspaper left on the table. Two of her fellow nurses and friends, Katrina and Molly, also sit around in the kitchenette, making conversation with Isabel over the news in the paper. She loves the two dearly, they're great friends and colleagues, but they're both compulsive gossipers and sometimes their excessive talking gets irritating. If anything relatively exciting is happening in the entire borough of Brooklyn they'll know about it, and Isabel is likely to find out on the next shift.

"Did you hear about the nurse that got brought in in the ambulance today?" Molly says, changing the subject from talking about the ration on stockings. "She's been off-colour for months now, coughing and wheezing, but she insisted she was fine, that it was only a flu," Molly continues, pulling a mug from the cabinet. "Then she stopped coming to work, said it was getting too much for her in her older age. But she's been coming in every few days for treatment. Not sure what for. Today, the ambulance brings her in, she's coughing up blood and hardly breathing. Her son called the ambulance, found her passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor. The doctor diagnosed her straight away. Turns out she's had it for months and she was getting treated for it, but the treatments didn't work."

"TB?" Katrina guesses, worry creasing her forehead. Isabel's interest is piqued, and she folds the newspaper and pushes it away to fully join the conversation. Molly takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces at the lack of sugar before giving out any more information. She pushes a stray piece of her vibrant red hair back from her face.

"Mm," Molly agrees, stirring more sugar into her coffee. "It's a shame. Sarah's a lovely woman."

"Sarah?" Isabel whispers, looking at the redhead for further explanation. _Oh no, please don't be Sarah, not my Sarah._

Molly looks worriedly at Isabel. "You know, the Irish nurse. She's been at the hospital for years now, I'm sure you've met her before. She's-."

Isabel doesn't stick around to hear the rest of it. She takes off toward the infectious diseases ward, only stopping to tell her other friend Clara to cover for her for the rest of the shift.

Isabel doesn't think she has ever run so fast in her life. Her heeled shoes pound on the tiles as she makes her way from one side of the hospital to the other, squeezing past doctors and nurses and occupied beds lining the hallways. She's rarely been in this part of the hospital but she follows the signs, eventually ending up in the cold waiting room outside the infectious diseases ward.

When she approaches the desk in a flurry, the middle-aged receptionist looks startled.

"Can I help you, hun?" She asks, standing up in her concern.

"Sarah Rogers. Please, I need to see her," Isabel pants, hysteria clear in her tone.

Recognition dawns on the receptionist's face. "Are you family?"

"She's like a mother to me, please," Isabel pleads.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you. You know the hospital's rules. We contacted her next of kin over an hour ago, a –" she checks her file, "Steven Rogers. He said he would be here as soon as possible."

"Please, just... tell me. Is it tuberculosis?" The words are choked out.

Before the receptionist can answer, there are loud footsteps in the hallway and Steve comes rushing around the corner, his breathing laboured. Bucky follows behind, and Isabel deduces that Steve had gone to get Bucky on the way to the hospital. Steve approaches the desk and gives the clerk his name. Isabel can't bring herself to look at her friend, fearing her eyes will give away the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

The receptionist calls for Sarah's doctor, and a few seconds later he emerges from one of the many hallways of the ward, discarding his gloves and mask in the quarantine bin. He approaches the group quickly, a clipboard in his hand, and adjusts his round glasses upon his nose.

"Steven Rogers?" He asks, eyeing Steve, most likely wondering about his age. "I'm Doctor Peters."

"My mother, what happened?" Steve asks, cutting to the chase. Peters hesitates, eyeing both Isabel and Bucky. "They're fine, they're family," Steve assures, his hand reaching out next to him. It brushes Isabel's and Isabel grasps it in her own, holding Steve's like a lifeline.

Peters nods, sighs, and runs a hand through his greying hair. "I've worked with your mother for many years. While I normally admire her stubbornness and drive, now I wish she would not be so independent. Your mother seemed fine, at most maybe suffering from a chest cold. She took some time off, said work was too much for her and she couldn't shake the virus. A few days later she came to me saying it was more than a cold. We ran some tests."

"She told me she was still working?" Steve mumbles, confusion rolling off his tongue. "She was still leaving the house every few days for a shift at the hospital?"

"She was attending the hospital, just not for her shifts. She has been coming here every few days for treatment."

"Treatment for what?" Steve asks quietly.

Isabel can't stand all of the doctor's bedside manner. She reaches forward and snatches the clipboard from the doctor's hand, skimming over Sarah's file until she finds the diagnosis. She doesn't tear her eyes away until the doctor forcefully takes the clipboard back from her.

"Your mother has tuberculosis," the doctor says, glaring at Isabel before turning a sympathetic glance back to Steve. "The diagnosis is quite severe. She is very sick, and she has been for many months. We thought we may be able to cure her tuberculosis, or at least make life more liveable whilst suffering from it, but judging by the state of her health today, she is getting worse, not better. Haven't you noticed anything out of the ordinary about her health?"

Steve nods at the doctor. He can't digest what he's being told. His mother has TB? But she'd told him that the doctor who'd come out to their apartment diagnosed her with the flu. Unless… of course. Sarah had lied so as to not worry Steve. She'd attended her tuberculosis treatments and pretended to be working. She had stayed away from him lately, wearing a mask when preparing food; she'd said it was so Steve didn't catch her virus, but now he knows it was so he didn't contract TB. He can't even imagine how sick she's been for the last few months, but she's pushed through it for him. Even when she was sick she still made sure he was well and dealt with his medications and doctor's appointments. She still worked as much as she could so she could give him everything he needed.

He has no idea when she got sick, but he knows how; working in the infectious diseases ward. If she knew that could be the case, why hadn't she told him? Now that he thinks back, she had been complaining of fatigue for weeks, coughing and spluttering and looking unwell, and when he'd asked about her she'd said she was fine. Steve tells the doctor all of this, and the doctor clicks his tongue.

"I won't sugar-coat it. Your mother is in bad condition. There is a chance that an earlier diagnosis and a hospital admission from the beginning could have seen her fully treated, but we all know money is tight nowadays, so it wasn't a possibility, and now we'll never know. Her lungs are failing her quite rapidly, Mr. Rogers. It is unfortunate that I must inform you to prepare that she may not last the night."

All three are silent, staring open mouthed at the doctor. What he said can't be true. Sarah Rogers is a fighter, just like Steve. There have been many nights when the doctors had said Steve would never make it, and yet he's still here today. Perhaps Sarah Rogers will pull an unimaginable feat.

"Mr. Rogers, you are cleared to see her. However, I cannot let your friends in. It's too risky." The doctor eyes the defeated-looking Barnes siblings. "I'm sorry, I understand how frustrating this is. I suggest anything you wish to say to Mrs. Rogers, you pass on through Steven." Peters doesn't wait for an answer, instead entering back into the ward and waiting for Steve at the entrance to the hallway.

Steve turns to his two friends. His exterior seems strong, but in his eyes, his fear and dread are evident. He squeezes Isabel's hand tightly. "What would you like me to tell her?"

"Tell her we will always be grateful for having her in our lives, and that we will watch out for your ass," Bucky replies solemnly, trying to lighten the situation by slapping Steve on the shoulder. Bucky knows Steve doesn't like relying on people for help, he's stubborn that way, but he hopes his unspoken promise to always be there for Steve is obvious.

"And that we love her so much, and thank you for everything she's taught us," Isabel adds quietly. She hugs Steve quickly, long enough to whisper in his left ear, the one without any hearing trouble: "It will be okay. No matter what happens, we will be here."

Steve nods appreciatively, heading off down the hallway with Peters. He puts on a mask and gloves as instructed, as well as scrub-like clothing over his own. Then, he disappears into a room on the right, the door closing behind him, and then near silence falls on the waiting room. Isabel and Bucky silently take seats and watch the goings on of the ward as the clock on the wall slowly ticks through the hours.

* * *

When Steve reemerges in the waiting room at a quarter past seven, he finds Bucky sat on one of the hard, plastic chairs, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, his head in his hands. Isabel sits in the chair beside Bucky, dozing with her head on his shoulder, exhausted after her unfinished shift and the adrenaline rush from a few hours before. Her and Bucky had still held out hope that Sarah would pull through – until Isabel fell asleep, that was, and conversation about it diminished.

Bucky stands when he notices Steve, and the sudden movement wakes Isabel. She stands too, a little groggy, but notices Steve's eyes are glassy, his mouth pulled into a straight line.

"What's happened?" Isabel asks him quietly. A bad feeling has settled in the pit of her stomach.

"She's gone," is all Steve says.

Isabel's hands fly to cover her mouth in shock as a panging pain stabs her heart. Sarah Rogers had been like a second mother to Isabel and Bucky ever since they'd taken Steve under their wing. She'd had them over for dinner and bought them Christmas presents if she could afford it. She'd never questioned their friendship with Steve, never asked whether the children of a Jewish immigrant could befriend a Catholic. When Isabel was sixteen and her only boyfriend had broken up with her, Sarah had hugged her while she cried. Sarah had inspired her to be a nurse and to help people, after teaching her how to treat Steve's illnesses. It seemed like nearly every major life event Isabel had experienced, Sarah had somehow been a part of it. And now she's gone.

Isabel only takes a few seconds before she composes herself. She stops the tears before they fall, wiping a hand at her eyes. She has to work out how to deal with this. Steve is on his own now, he has no biological family left, but Isabel isn't about to let him feel that way. She needs to stay strong for him. Just as she feels herself calm, the tears threaten to emerge again. She curses inwardly at how much harder it is to disassociate when the patient is practically family.

Isabel watches as Bucky pulls Steve into a hug, more gentle than she has ever seen her brother be with Steve. Normally, Bucky doesn't hold back from his rough manhandling just because Steve is sickly. When they pull away, Steve's stare is hard and his eyes are cold. Bucky, always the more emotional of the two friends, turns away to let a few tears fall. Isabel is expecting Steve to break down at any moment, but she should know better. He is stubborn and strong and he isn't going to be caught crying in public.

"Stevie," Isabel whispers. "I'm so sorry."

There she goes with the nickname again. Any other time it embarrasses him, or is just a substitute for his normal name, but right now Isabel's use of the nickname leaks comfort and understanding and warmth, and follows on from her promise that she will always be there. Steve doesn't know if he can conceal his emotions with her like he could when Bucky hugged him, so when she moves toward him, he steps away.

"Can we go home?" He asks quietly.

"Of course," Isabel says, trying not to let the hurt show on her face at how Steve purposely stepped away from her. He just wants space, she reminds herself. She can't even begin to imagine what he is thinking, how he is feeling; just the number of things he will have to deal with is overwhelming enough. Instead of dwelling on it, the three of them set off toward Steve's apartment.

* * *

When Steve opens the door, the apartment immediately holds an eerie atmosphere. They expect Sarah to come through the kitchen and greet them when they enter, but everything stays silent. Steve trudges through the kitchen to the lounge and sinks into the cushions.

"Would you like us to give you some privacy?" Isabel asks from where her and Bucky still stand by the front door, unsure whether they should impose.

Steve nods his head and refuses to make eye contact, his bottom lip only trembling slightly in the pillows.

"Okay, Stevie. We'll come back tomorrow morning," Bucky says, taking Isabel's arm and leading her out of the apartment.

As the Barnes siblings make their way home through the chilly night air, Steve Rogers lays face down on the couch and muffles his scream with the cushion, soaking it with his tears within minutes. The world feels like its closing in on him, the blackness suffocating him. He cries and cries, feeling strangled by his own life and its circumstances, before the world goes black and he finally feels a sense of peace, letting sleep carry him away.

* * *

When Bucky and Isabel arrive home, Bucky heads straight for the liquor cabinet. He silently pours himself a glass of whiskey, a low-grade brand that's all they can afford, and downs it straight away in one gulp. The burn in his throat is almost comforting, and it makes him forget about everything that's happened that night just for a second. He pours another and turns to move to the couch, surprised to see Isabel standing silently in the doorway watching him. He'd thought she would hide out in her room. He pours another glass of whiskey and silently hands it to her.

"Good thing I'm old enough to drink, I have a feeling we'll be doing a lot of it," she whispers, taking the glass.

"Even if you weren't, I wouldn't snitch on you," Bucky tells her. "I'd tell you to have the drink, it ages you."

"Whiskey doesn't make you look older," Isabel deadpans, not understanding Bucky's joke.

"Oh, doesn't it just? Have you seen dad? I know he looks like a wreck, but he's really only thirty-five," Bucky retorts, but his voice doesn't seem to cooperate and the joke falls flat. Especially since George Barnes had a chronic drinking problem when he first came home from the Great War. Bucky probably should have seen that as a sign that war's just a major fuck-up in the mental department.

Isabel slowly sits beside Bucky, looking carefully at the whiskey in her hands.

"It's giggle juice. It'll make you feel better," Bucky tells her, downing his second glass.

She throws her head back and downs it quickly, wincing and screwing her face up at the burn in her throat and stomach. She puts the glass on the coffee table, looking at it in disgust. She's never had a whiskey before, and she doesn't care for it, though she's sure a few more glasses would see her feeling a little better, just like Bucky said. She doesn't have the time though because her face quickly turns to one of sadness, and tears begin to spill from her eyes.

"Hey, hey," Bucky says, fighting back his own tears. He grabs his sister's shoulder and pulls her into him, holding her tightly and resting his chin on top of her head. He wipes away some of her tears at one point, her mascara running down her cheeks. "A face like yours is too beautiful to be so sad," he tells her, and it just makes her cry a little harder.

They stay that way for a long while, until the grandfather clock in the corner has chimed twice on the hour, and Isabel starts to fall asleep on Bucky's shoulder.


	17. Chapter 16

**16.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **October 15th, 1942**

When the Barnes family reach the cemetery, they all pile out of their small black car. In just a few years when Becca's taller and can't sit on Bucky's lap anymore on their drives, they won't all be able to fit. They walk through the intricate gates and head to plot 109, where Sarah Rogers is to be buried. Winifred and George walk ahead with the twins, leaving their eldest son and daughter to fall behind.

Isabel taps Bucky's shoulder lightly to get his attention. "How do you think Steve is, really?" Isabel whispers. If anyone knows Steve best in the world, it's Bucky. They're practically one person.

Bucky sighs. "He's holding it all in. I'm just waiting for the flood gates to burst. And they have every right to. He just lost his only family."

"He has us."

"Of course, but it isn't the same," Bucky sighs again, running a hand over his face. "We need to make sure we remind him of that. We need to make sure he knows there are still people out there that care about him. And make sure he looks after himself."

Isabel nods in agreement, solemnly watching her feet as she scuffs them across the pavement, without the energy to actually lift them. They're nearing the middle of the cemetery now, grave plots surrounding them all on sides, waking down the paved path under the canopy of the trees.

"We should ask him to move in with us," Bucky decides suddenly. "He'll never be able to afford rent on his own."

"I know he can't, and I would in a heartbeat, but where is he going to sleep? And keep his stuff? We live with our parents, Bucky. The apartment is so squished already."

Bucky hesitates. "I know. But I've been thinking on this for a while now. Hear me out. I was thinking of moving out and getting an apartment, hopefully one that is much cheaper than the one Steve is in now. I can convince Steve to move in with me. Then, when I go off to war, I can send back part of my salary to help him pay the rent and just keep enough back to get me by, not that I'll need much over there. That way, when I come back, I'll have somewhere to live. I can afford it, especially if I have Steve helping to pay the rent. And it will clear some room for everyone else. Mom and Dad can have a room back rather than sleeping in the lounge, and you three can share or something."

"You know Steve will never go for that, he's too stubborn and independent," Isabel says, but the prospect of what Bucky is saying does sound appealing. It's true – if Bucky was to move out, the twins could share a room, Winifred and George could have a room, and Isabel could have the mattress in the lounge. There would be more money for food, and less expenditure for electricity and water with one less person in the house. But if Isabel was to move out too… "I want to come with you," she decides.

"What?"

"I want to move out, too. I've had the same thoughts as you. I could move in with Danny, but that's not exactly what I want. It's also frowned upon and something tells me I'm not ready to adjust to such a life of luxury as he lives. But no one's going to think bad of a brother and sister moving out to make room for their family. I can afford to move out on my own too, especially if we all do this together. It will make things easier for you and Steve if he decides to move in with you. Even when you go off to war, at least Steve won't be alone. And I agree, the family apartment is crowded. It always has been, ever since we moved in."

"Let's not rush into anything," Bucky decides. "We'll talk about it later. We'll talk to Steve," Bucky lets the subject drop, although he looks increasingly excited by the prospect. The day is much too solemn to be thinking of such exciting ideas, though the opportunity is only really coming about due to the loss of Sarah.

Bucky and Isabel finally reach the gathering crowd where the rest of the Barnes' arrived a few seconds earlier and take a place beside Steve, who is already there waiting for them. Bucky looks handsome in his hand-me-down suit, a navy-blue number that used to belong to George Barnes but no longer fits him, and Isabel stands on the other side in a black knee length dress. Steve feels a little messy beside Bucky's slicked back styling, with his jacket hanging off his thin shoulders, faded button up, his father's tie and uncooperative hair, which he hadn't had the strength to even try to tame it that morning.

The funeral is a small, affair; Steve doesn't have much money left over, and he hasn't inherited much from Sarah other than the apartment and furniture. Bucky chipped in as much as he could spare for the headstone, but Steve wouldn't take much more if it was offered. Steve has always been someone who doesn't want to be a burden on people. Since he has been so sickly and frail from his youth, he always feels guilty when people have to take care of him. He never wants to bother people, just tries to push on through like it's nothing. Therefore, almost throwing himself into bankruptcy, Steve managed to purchase the site for his mother beside his father in Green-Wood cemetery. The plot is positioned beneath a large oak tree, just off a newly laid gravel path, and the grass is littered with orange and brown dried leaves.

The funeral is a late afternoon session on a cool, windy Autumn day, the setting sun beating down on the backs of those attending the ceremony. The Barnes family, Steve, the members of Sarah's Irish book club and a few of Sarah's work colleagues stand around the casket. Throughout the ceremony, everyone has placed a flower or bouquet on top of the polished wood of the casket.

Despite the Priest's monotone sermon and thick Irish accent, the ceremony is soft and nice, just like the woman herself had been. A picture of Sarah sits on a portable easel behind the Priest, one of her and Steve when he had been a toddler. Isabel doesn't know who took the picture, maybe a friend, but whoever they were, they captured a beautiful moment. Both Steve and Sarah smile toothily at the camera, and even through the black and white of the photograph, everyone can see their blonde hair and blue eyes in their minds.

Even though people say lovely things about Mrs. Rogers, it all truly is horrible. It's something none of them ever wanted to see. Isabel and Bucky didn't ever want to be at the burial of a woman who had been like a mother to them, another parental figure to understand why they do what they do, and to support them, love them.

Isabel finds that the Priest's voice drones out, and she wonders where Sarah Rogers truly has gone. She likes to think it's somewhere nice, but how can she ever really be sure? Living between two religions and cultures all her life has always felt more like it's two different worlds. Sarah and Steve believe in Heaven, that she knows, and she thinks that sounds lovely. Maybe Sarah will become a bright star in the night sky, destined to look down on them all for eternity. That would sound nice, too, if she were from Ancient Greece. But she can't help but also remember what he mother had taught her about the Jewish afterlife, one of the only times Winifred had shared any of her Jewish traditions with her children. Isabel had been no older than seven, and Bucky had been there as well, but Isabel doesn't know if he remembers it.

" _The time between life and death is extremely sacred," Winifred had said, petting her daughter's hair. "It marks the conclusion of the soul's journey on earth, but is also the beginning of the soul's eternal life in Heaven. When a person dies, every positive thought, word, or deed that occurred during their life is concentrated into a pristine spiritual light, which is revealed to the world and continues to shine down on those above and below."_

" _Like a guardian angel?" Isabel asked quietly._

" _Kind of," her mother agreed. "Everyone is judged by the life they led. Those who have led perfect lives – those who were nice to others and did good things – they are let into the World to Come. Those who didn't must wait for one year to enter the World to Come. You must always be a good person, k_ _otyonok, so that you may enter the World to Come right away._ _"_

No matter what is true, or what Heaven one believed in, Isabel has no doubts that Sarah Rogers has been allowed entrance. One as kind and pure and selfless as her would be guaranteed. She is just glad to know that Sarah's light will continue to shine on Steve, even though she may not be here physically.

As the Priest wraps up his sermon, the casket is slowly lowered into the already dug hole, the wooden coffin eventually disappearing from sight. Beside her, Isabel hears Steve release a deep breath that he'd been holding, his eyes more glassy than usual. She silently takes his hand in hers, interlocking their slim fingers. He stares at their hands for a moment before meeting her eyes, the corners of his mouth only lifting slightly in a smile. She squeezes his hand gently and returns a sympathetic smile.

Once the coffin settles into the ground below them, the few guests begin to make their departure. Steve hasn't planned a wake, hasn't planned an afternoon tea - he just couldn't bring himself to allow everyone into his home, into his mother's home. Everyone mumbles their condolences to Steve and place comforting hands on his shoulder as they pass, a few of Sarah's book club members pressing a kiss to his cheek, having known Steve since he was a bubbling baby.

As the Barnes' make to leave, Winifred embraces Steve tightly in a motherly hug, rubbing a comforting hand on his back. "You need anything, you just call," she offers through teary eyes, pinching Steve's cheek lightly the way she used to when he was young.

"Thank you, Fred," Steve whispers genuinely.

He accepts a hug from George as well, and then one from the twins, Becca's eyes red rimmed from crying despite hardly knowing Sarah Rogers. Steve holds little Becca tight and kisses her forehead before she pulls away, patting down her hair. Steve remembers the day Bucky came to him, said his mom was having twins, how annoyed Bucky had been because that meant he had to share his room. He remembers the first time he'd met Becca and Robbie, babies bundled up in thick blankets, holding little Becca in his arms as she cooed. Now she's not all that much shorter than him, looking increasingly like Winifred and Isabel as she gets older, crying before him just as she had the first day he'd met her. Steve finds it funny how at the loss of one life, he can be thinking about the gaining of another so long ago. It's almost ironic.

As Bucky and Isabel say goodbye to their family, promising to see them back at the apartment, Steve pets down Becca's hair, patting her cheek in reassurance. He then turns away and makes his escape, walking slowly back to his apartment alone.

His Ma is dead, and no matter how many times he says it to himself, he still can't believe it. Even as she was lowered into the ground he had to force himself to breathe, and the only thing grounding him had been Bucky's hand light on his shoulder and his fingers interlocked with Isabel's. Steve takes another deep breath and avoids the older Barnes' siblings, weaving away from Bucky's eyes that scan for him over the crowd leaving the cemetery. He wants to shut himself off again, scream into his pillow again and cry in a tiny ball.

But as he rounds the corner to ascend the steps to the apartment, he hears two pairs of footsteps behind him and he should have expected as much. Not only is Bucky tall enough to see over a crowd, they have also been following each other since they were ten and know each other like the palm of their own hand. Isabel is in tow, and she follows the two boys up the stairs.

"How do you think the service went?" Bucky asks eventually, breaking the silence.

"It was okay, she's buried next to Dad," Steve says quietly. Bucky nods, schooling his expression to hide how his heart has broken. He walks with a bit of a swagger, another tool he uses to hide behind. Sarah Rogers had known Bucky since he had missing baby teeth and was addicted to marbles. Behind him, Isabel wipes a tear from her cheek stubbornly. They are mourning her as well.

"I looked for you after. My folks could have given you a ride home," Bucky replies.

Steve can't imagine losing Mr. and Mrs. Barnes in the way Bucky and Isabel have lost his mother. They have always been there when Steve needed them with open doors and warm food. Bucky's bedroom was always welcome when Sarah worked late, or even when Steve was sick. They were, and still are, his surrogate family.

"It's okay," Steve says. "I didn't mind walking."

Bucky nods. "I was gonna ask–"

"I know what you're going to say, Buck," Steve says tiredly, interrupting him.

Bucky sighs, like he knew it was coming. Is he really that predictable? "We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids," he jokes.

"Or, Bucky and I were thinking of getting an apartment. You could have your own room," Isabel says seriously.

"Come on, it'll be fun, the three of us together. All you gotta do is shine our shoes, maybe take out the trash, pay a little bit of rent," Bucky adds.

"You're going to war, Buck. You don't need an apartment," Steve tells him.

"I may not ever end up going, Steve. I don't know when, or if, I'll be called up. I need somewhere to live in the meantime. You and Belle can live in it once I get shipped out." The three halt on the landing in front of Steve's door as he fumbles in his jacket pocket for his key. After a moment, Bucky kicks aside the brick sitting by the door and stoops to pick up the spare key, handing it to Steve. "Come on, Stevie."

"Thank you, guys. But I can get by on my own."

"The thing is, you don't have to," Bucky says, putting his hand roughly on Steve's shoulder. "I'm with you till the end of the line, pal. We both are."

Steve smiles at them, sad and grateful. They outwardly see his resolve dissolving. "I'll think about it."

Bucky seems satisfied with that answer, because he lets the conversation go as well as Steve's shoulder, turning back to smile smugly at his sister, who hadn't thought Steve would agree.

"Okay," Isabel says, breaking her silence. "Well, we'll leave you alone, if you want?"

"No!" Steve says, maybe a little too quickly. He feels panic rise in his stomach at the thought of them leaving. He'd wanted to be alone before, but now that they're here, he can't stand the thought of them leaving. "No, it's okay. Company would be nice," he corrects, finally jiggling the door open and entering. He hears the door shut behind him but doesn't pause in his step as he goes to the lounge. From beneath the couch he pulls out a pad and pencil. He decides to distract himself with art and try to exhaust some of his emotions onto the paper so that he can be of better company later. He begins scribbling, angrily, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Isabel and Bucky sit at the two-person dining table for hours, with Bucky doodling absentmindedly on a spare piece of paper. They hope that their presence will at least make this a little more bearable for Steve. They also silently wait for the moment when it will all be too much for Steve, and don't want him to be alone when he breaks down, but it doesn't seem to be coming. When the phone rings in the kitchen and Steve makes no move to answer, Bucky takes it off the receiver. Their mother is calling to find where they were, since neither of them had come home for dinner. When Bucky looks at the clock on the wall, he grimaces, seeing that it is past nine at night. Bucky reluctantly tells her he will come home right away

"That was Mom looking for us," he says to both Steve and Isabel. "I've also got work in the morning. I booked today off, but I didn't think about tomorrow, and Mr. Thomas isn't fond of no-shows. I'll come back as soon as I can, if you want me."

As Bucky puts his suit jacket back on and makes for the door, Steve's stomach plummets. If Bucky leaves, then Isabel will leave as well, and then he will really be alone. For the first time since his mother died, it hits him that she definitely isn't coming home, she isn't just on night shift at the hospital. He is completely and utterly alone. Isabel must notice his panic, because she volunteers to stay.

"Ma will understand," she says. "Besides, I have a few days off."

Bucky nods, apologises profusely, and makes his way out into the night. Isabel was planning on staying anyway. She doesn't want to let Steve out of her sight. Steve Rogers has no sense of self-preservation. He throws himself into dangerous situations without thinking of his own welfare, and that's when he's in a good state of mind. She hates to think what he might do now. Steve is not good at taking care of himself, not physically and definitely not emotionally.

When her stomach's rumbling becomes embarrassingly loud, Isabel wanders to the kitchen and makes a sandwich for herself and Steve with whatever she can find in the pantry. She leaves Steve's on a plate on the coffee table beside the couch, but it goes uneaten. She sits on the other couch, eating her sandwich slowly and thinking of ways she can talk to Steve, but finds she has nothing. What do you say to someone who is suffering with such a loss?

Abruptly, Steve stands up from the couch, leaving the sketch open on the armrest as he goes to his room. She hears his bed creak loudly as he topples onto it, and the crinkling of the sheets as he pulls them over his head. After a few moments, Isabel silently moves to carefully take the drawing in her hands. It's angry and emotive, full of all the things Steve was feeling at the time he drew it. But still, even with the messy lines and harsh shading, Sarah Rogers' face is so identical to the real person that Isabel almost thinks it's a photograph.

When they'd all first met, it had taken months for Steve to admit he was an artist, and even longer for him to begin sketching around them. Eventually, he would show them if he was asked, and now he shows his work to Isabel or Bucky without being prompted nearly every time. However, there are still some drawings he refuses to show, and neither of them push it. Isabel has no doubt that Steve left this in plain sight for her to view.

She gives Steve a few minutes, in which she also composes herself, before walking to his open bedroom door. She assumes that since it is open, it's an invitation for company. She peers inside, finding Steve buried in a mound of sheets and blankets, a cocoon where he can hide from the outside world like nothing has happened. Isabel sits lightly on the end of the mattress, by what she thinks are his feet. At the extra weight on the bed, Steve peeks out from the covers at the other end, and then sits up. His hair is even more tousled than usual from being under the sheets, his eyes bloodshot.

"You see it?" He asks hoarsely.

"Yes. It's beautiful."

Steve nods, rubbing his stinging eyes with his slim, artistic fingers. He slides his hand through his short blonde hair, making it stick up even more. "You really think I should move in with you guys?"

Isabel sighs and nods. "Yeah, I do. And I'm not just talking about the financial side of it. Steve, how are you going to be here alone? Everything is going to act as a reminder - the furniture, the memories of what used to happen. I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay."

"I would be fine," Steve argues.

"Okay, I'm just telling you what I think. It's up to you," Isabel reassures him.

Steve sighs loudly, sitting back against the headboard. He looks miserable, eyes wide and bottom lip pouted. His breathing is shaking as though he's fighting back sobs, his glassy eyes another giveaway.

"Stevie," Isabel begins carefully. "It's okay to not be okay."

Steve stares at her for a minute before his bottom lip trembles. His eyes well, and he pleads silently for them to stop, but the tears just kept coming and before he knows it, he's all out sobbing.

"Move over," Isabel commands softly and Steve complies, sliding to one side of the single bed. Isabel removes her heels and climbs in between the blankets, ignoring her mother's voice in her head telling how inappropriate this is. She grabs Steve around the shoulders and holds him tightly, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. He leans against her shoulder and cries into the material of her dress, letting her run her fingers through his hair, hushing him quietly.

Eventually she leans back against the bed and takes Steve with her, intent on lying down since her back is screaming at her, sitting in such a position. Steve immediately sits upright, breaking out of her grasp. Truthfully, she'd fully expected Steve to reject her offer.

"What about Danny?" Steve asks, thinking of how angry the larger man would be if he knew Steve was snuggling up to his girlfriend.

"I don't care about Danny right now, I care about you," Isabel tells him, and opens her arms just a little bit, silently telling him she doesn't mind either way.

Steve only hesitates for a second. It had felt so good before to be in her arms, to just let himself cry. It feels good not to be alone.

She's lying down on her back, so he lays down on his side next to her, resting his head against her shoulder. He keeps his body distanced from her own, as much as he can on the single bed to retain some sense of decency. Once he's settled, Isabel's arm underneath him wraps tighter around his bony shoulders, clutching him tightly. Isabel's cheeks heat up at what she's done, but it's too late to back out now. She reasons that Steve needs this more than she needs to worry about etiquette. Steve's tears quickly soak her shoulder again, and before she totally loses her nerve, she holds out her free hand for Steve to take. He holds it tightly, and Isabel holds their interlocked fingers close to her shoulder, just below Steve's chin.

Sobs rack Steve's body as Isabel holds him, vowing to herself that she will hold on until Steve decides to let go. Hours pass, and by the time Steve calms, he feels like he will never have enough tears to cry again. His throat burns, his eyes are red raw, and his nose is blocked. When he can think straight again, he immediately feels embarrassed for his outburst and for acting like this in front of Isabel, and then sharing his bed with her. His face and the tips of his ears turn red.

He looks up at her face to find she's looking up at the ceiling, her own eyes red rimmed. She is absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and now that he notices it, he realises she has been doing it the whole time and it's surprisingly calming.

"I told her what you said," Steve whispers.

Isabel doesn't say anything, but the shift of her hand lets Steve know she heard him.

"She said she loved you and Bucky like you were her own children. That you helped make her life complete."

Steve feels Isabel's shoulder shudder in what he thinks is a sob, and then hears her sniff.

"Thank you," she finally whispers.

After a few minutes, Steve takes a deep breath. "Ma told me she was proud of me," he notes uncertainly.

Isabel shifts then, rolling onto her side to face Steve. She doesn't remove his arm from under his head, nor does she let go of his hand, holding it underneath her own chin now. She looks into his eyes, searching them. "You didn't believe her?"

What did Sarah Rogers have to be proud of in her only son? Steve can't think of any reasons; he's sickly and was only given a life expectancy of 30 years. He gets beat up on a weekly basis because he can't seem to keep his damn mouth shut. He doesn't have a job, or his own home, or a dame to call his own at the age of twenty-four. Steve settles for just shaking his head no.

"Well, she was. And so am I. For so many reasons," Isabel reassures.

They are silent then, listening to the sounds of the city outside Steve's window. Sirens still pass frequently, even at the ungodly hour they are still awake at. The open curtains give Steve an unobstructed view over Isabel of the street outside and the night sky above the opposite buildings. Steve stares outside, committing the image to memory. Soon, he feels sleep creeping up on him and he welcomes it, hoping for an escape from this horrible reality, even if it is only for a few hours.

"I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around," he says in his sleep induced state, referring to the fact that Isabel has been holding him the last few hours, gesturing between them awkwardly with the hand that is holding Isabel's.

Isabel laughs lightly. "Doesn't matter." Her own voice sounds tired, as though she is keeping herself awake to be with him.

Steve moves off Isabel's arm, curling up in the blankets facing her. Isabel winces as the pins and needles start up in her arm. She sits up and moves it a bit, then starts to untangle herself from the blankets, getting up to go sleep on the couch. Steve's hand on her arm makes her pause.

"You don't have to, but you can stay here if you want." He tries to make it sound like an offer, like he isn't fussed either way, but the underlying message is clear: _don't leave me alone._

Isabel nods, and settles back down, laying on her side so she is facing Steve again. She pulls the blankets around her, resembling a sleeping bag, and tucks her hands under her chin. Inches from her, Steve's breathing has slowed considerably, his eyes closed. She watches him as he slowly falls asleep, his features softening as his peaceful dreams push away the pain of the week's events.

"Don't tell Bucky about this," Steve slurs suddenly, his last thought before unconsciousness takes over.

"I won't," Isabel whispers. Steve's gentle snore follows right after.


	18. Chapter 17

**17.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **November 5** **th** **, 1942**

"I can't believe Steve, that stubborn little punk."

Isabel sighs, falling into step beside Bucky. He's swung by the hospital on his way home from the docks to walk her home at the end of her shift and so the two of them can decide on a course of action. The weather has taken a cold snap as winter prepares to descend upon the city, and the sun has long set in the sky, despite it only being just after six. Around them, everyone is dressed in thick coats, scarves and mittens, as so are Bucky and Isabel.

"So, he definitely said he doesn't want to move out?" Isabel confirms.

"Yes. He said he appreciates the offer, but he really can get by on his own. Really stuffs up our plans."

"Don't be so harsh, Buck. We have to think of the sentimental value of his apartment. It's where he's lived with Sarah for the last twenty-four years. Their whole lives have been made in that apartment. Maybe he just isn't ready to let it go yet."

Bucky contemplates this. "I see your point."

"I tried to talk him into it, Buck. The night after the funeral, after you left. I told him that I didn't think it was a good idea for him to stay considering that everything would be a trigger and he seemed to think about it. It's been a few weeks now, he's had plenty of time to weight his options."

"He isn't weighing them very well," Bucky chuckles. "Well, even so, I think _we_ still need to do this. We need to keep the option open for him, as well as for us."

"Think about it," Isabel tells Bucky. "You go off to war and that leaves me living there along for however long you're gone. Do you really think Steve is going to want me there all alone?"

"Guess not. As soon as I got shipped out, he'll probably move in within the hour," Bucky agrees, imagining Steve freaking out over Isabel being left alone in the apartment. "But I don't think your sweetheart would much like you living along with another man, either," he points out, raising his eyebrow at Isabel. She doesn't seem to think of Danny when it comes to Steve, doesn't seem to think how he would react to her and Steve living together.

Isabel shrugs Bucky off. "Danny _thinks_ Steve is like my brother. He thinks he doesn't have to worry."

"Is Steve not like your brother?" Bucky asks, maybe a little too hopefully.

"Of course, he is," Isabel defends. "It all depends on how Ma takes the news anyway," Isabel changes the subject. "Do we just come straight out and tell them, or butter them up a bit first?"

Bucky accepts the conversation change. He'll work on Isabel later. "Straight to the point, get it over with. We're in our twenties, we aren't teenagers. It's our decision," Bucky decides. They stop at their front door. "You ready for this?"

"Ready."

The smell of stew on the stove is strong as they walk in the front door of the family apartment, and it makes their stomachs growl. Before Isabel can even manage to shut the door behind her, Bucky's voice calls out to their parents.

"Ma? Dad? We're home!"

At the kitchen table, just in view, George waves a hand to his children without looking up from the day's newspaper. Winifred pokes her head around the part-wall blocking off the kitchen from the hallway, smiling at her children. "Oh good, dinner is almost ready."

"Where are Becca and Robbie?" Isabel asks, noticing the absence of chatter from the rambunctious twins and the lack of bear hugs as soon as they walked in the door.

"They both went to friends' houses after school. Your father is going to get them after dinner."

Isabel and Bucky exchange a look. The lack of the twins will most likely make their announcement easier. They can imagine the tantrums from Becca that are going to erupt at their departure from the household.

"Before you serve dinner we actually have something we need to discuss with you and Dad," Bucky says, leading Winifred to the table, where George has looked up from the paper curiously.

"What is it, _moya lyubov'_?"

"Well," Bucky says, stalling as everyone takes their seats at the table. "Belle and I have been thinking that it might be time we thought about moving out. Together of course, to make things easier and safer."

Winifred and George are silent as they stare between their two eldest children, who stare back worriedly. George fiddles with the glasses perched on his nose, and finally clears his throat. "If you're both doing this because you think you are a burden to us, you aren't. You are our children. We will support you to the best of our abilities for as long as we can, and for as long as you need."

"We know, Dad," Bucky continues, leaning across the table to take his mother's hand.

"Just because you are both in your twenties doesn't mean you are required to leave the nest. The world's a different place to what it was when your mother and I were younger. Isabel had to study for her career. And in our dating days, people courted with their parents are chaperones, and most of the time the relationships were arranged. We understand why the both of you haven't married yet, the world is changing, there's another world war-" George continues, despite those issues not having any impact on their decision.

"Dad, that isn't the reasoning at all," Bucky cuts in. "Sure, you and Ma have helped us build our lives and now we don't need the support. We have friends and contacts and stable jobs. I've been working at the docks since I was fifteen and I'm one of their most loyal employees. And Isabel's been qualified for a few years now, and she's got a permanent position at the hospital, which are hard to come by. We can afford to live on our own. There's no reason why we shouldn't have a go at independence."

Isabel speaks up then. "We know that we aren't a burden on you, and that you don't mind, but it means we will be out of the way so you can give the same support to Robbie and Becca that you gave us. Becca and Robert could share or have their own rooms, and you could have your own bedroom instead of sleeping out here. You'd have more room, and less expenses. We just think it would be easier."

"We haven't got an apartment yet. We haven't even started looking," Bucky tells them. "But we wanted you to know what we were thinking."

George and Winifred exchange glances, having a discussion with only their eyes. Both look solemn, but accepting. "What brought this up?" Winifred asks.

"Well, truthfully, it was Sarah's passing. Bucky was going to move into an apartment with Steve to help with expenses. Once we thought about it, it just felt like the right thing to do for both of us," Isabel tells them, seeing Winifred's face darken in horror at the mention of Steve living there too, her mouth opening to protest. "Steve has just his mind about joining us, but we've decided to go for it," she hurriedly adds.

"So, Steve is still residing at his family apartment?" Winifred confirms.

"Yes," Isabel says vaguely, not letting on that they're still hoping on convincing Steve to join them. This conversation has certainly shown Isabel that Winifred would not be open to Steve and Isabel living there together once Bucky leaves. She may have a do a bit of explaining when the time comes. Still, she's an adult. She can do what she likes, especially if she doesn't care for her neighbourhood reputation.

George finally nods in understanding. "You're both old enough to make your own decisions, and I'm confident your decisions will be the right ones. If you need help, you know where to find us."

"Thank you, Dad," Isabel says with a bright smile, standing and going around the table to kiss her father's cheek.

"On one condition," Winifred interrupts. At Bucky and Isabel's nod, she continues, a smirk appearing on her lips. "You have to come at least once a fortnight for dinner. And on holidays. And bring Steve with you, that boy could use a good feed."

* * *

Isabel and Bucky manage to find an apartment within a few weeks. They look at a few, but a lot of them are a little rundown, not worth the money people are asking for them. Apparently, the Great Depression is still affecting the market, even so many years after the value of the dollar increased. Bucky finds a lot of mould in one, the black fungus lurking in both bedrooms and the kitchen, a worrying amount that would be damaging to the health. Another has a leak in the roof that's caused a large water stain to cover the white roof, causing it to crack. The third they look at is just scary, the cupboards falling off their hinges in the kitchen, without running water in the skins and shower, the floorboard rotting away beneath their feet. Bucky steers them out of that one pretty quickly, and they consider themselves a little unlucky in the apartment hunt.

After a few days of searching and asking others in the neighbourhood for hints, Bucky sees a sign in a shop window in Fort Greene Park on his walk home from work one night advertising a rent vacancy for a two-bedroom apartment above the neighbourhood bookshop. On their next day off, a Tuesday, whilst everyone else is at work or school, the siblings organise a visit to the apartment with the landlady, Mrs. Turner, who shows them around and points out the apartment's features while Isabel smiles from ear to ear.

Mrs. Turner is a plump older lady with a kind smile and round glasses perched upon her nose. Her husband owns and operates the bookshop beneath them, and waved to them from the front desk as they went upstairs.

It's a moderately sized apartment, with a frame and mattress for a double bed already positioned in each bedroom. It has one bathroom with a working shower and toilet and only a little bit of mould in the shower, which Bucky is sure he can get rid of. A large, open kitchen and lounge area makes up the bulk of the floor plan. The kitchen has recently been refurbished with new counter tops and cupboard fronts, and a small four-person dining table that Mrs. Turner informs them comes with the apartment. There's plenty of room for a few couches in front of the open fireplace, and enough wall space for bookshelves so they can store the books and various knick-knacks they've collected over the years. And most importantly, there's enough room in the open area to section of another area as a third bedroom, just in case Steve decides to move in as well and doesn't want to share with Bucky.

"I think we could do something with this," Isabel says when the landlady leaves to give them some minutes to decide. She seems nonchalant, but as she takes one last look around the apartment, at the sunshine beaming into the kitchen and bedrooms through the open windows, Bucky can see the excitement on her features. "And it has a fire escape. That's always handy."

"For sitting or for escaping?" Bucky laughs.

"Both. I may need to get away from you."

Bucky hums his amused agreement, taking a walk through the kitchen and using his fingers to count of the positive aspects of the choice. "It's light, airy. The floorboards and kitchen are nice. The wallpaper's peeling a little, but we can fix that if we want to. It's got a fireplace so we won't freeze to death in winter. It's in a good, safe neighbourhood, close to my work and yours. All the amenities we could need are nearby. And most importantly, we can afford it, with or without Steve."

"So that's a yes?" Isabel asks, only barely containing her excitement and biting her lip in anticipation.

"If it's what you want? _Oof_ -"

Isabel runs at Bucky, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Yes! Bucky, it's beautiful!"

"Well then, I think that's a yes," Bucky chuckles, patting his sister on the back.

Mrs. Turner, who insists that they call her Maureen, is all too happy to let them start renting immediately since the apartment has been empty and collecting dust the last few months, and the longer its empty, the longer her and her husband aren't making any rent. In the building's small office just off from the lobby, Bucky and Isabel dutifully fill out the paperwork and sign their names on the dotted lines of their rent contract. Maureen hands them two sets of keys, warns them not to lose them, and tells them the rent is due at the start of each month before leaving them be in their new apartment, the siblings smiling at each other in excitement and pride.

* * *

By late afternoon that day, the siblings manage to return to their childhood apartment and retrieve their belongings. They lug everything to their new apartment by hopping on a passing trolley car. It would have been nice to borrow the car, but George took it to work. They both struggle to drag full suitcases of their belongings each as well as carry the shopping bags that contain the various items they've purchased in the weeks after making their decision, such as pots, plates, cutlery, towels and bedding, both new and second-hand. It takes a few trips to get everything to the new apartment. They still have some furniture to buy, but they'll get it delivered.

The bus ride from Stuyvesant to Fort Greene Park is short, which they are grateful for as their mother would not be happy if the commute for a coffee date was much longer. Dragging the suitcases up the stairs proves more challenging than it was to get them down, but the two manage, with Bucky admittedly doing most of the heavy lifting. They leave the shopping bags in the kitchen area and take their own suitcases into their respective rooms. Bucky finishes decorating much faster than Isabel, having thrown everything in random places and hastily putting the sheets on his new bed. Isabel takes her time putting things in their respective positions and hanging her dresses in the built-in closet. There's a chest of drawers in the corner that she loads up with blouses, skirts and jumpers. Finally, she makes her bed, pulling the sheets tight like she does when making hospital beds, and fluffing her pillows.

Satisfied, she enters the kitchen, where Bucky is busying himself finding spots for their kitchen utensils in the cupboards and drawers.

"I hope you aren't just putting anything anywhere like you do in your bedroom," she warns, going to a plastic bag and pulling out the cutlery set.

"Of course not," Bucky says. "Pots are there, pans are next door, the cups and mugs are up here, and the plates and bowls are stowed in here." Bucky shows Isabel all of the utensils in their hidey holes, impressed with his organisational skills.

"Good," Isabel commends.

They work to put everything away, the afternoon wearing away into night as they fill the time with excited chatter and the bustle of their possessions. Eventually they pack everything away in its new home, the kitchen sparkling clean and their bedrooms tidied.

"Alright, invite Steve over," Bucky says. "We're going to have a party."

"With three people? And hardly any furniture?" Isabel asks, looking around at their bare living room. They really need to buy a couch.

"Yep. It's only our first day, he isn't going to expect us to have everything. Do you have an aversion to sitting on the floor?"

"Apparently not," Isabel says, but she calls Steve anyway with the phone on the wall in the kitchen, giving him the address and telling him to bring a bottle with him.

Steve arrives thirty minutes later at their new address, which is a few blocks the other side of his apartment from their parents'. He walks inside, a bottle of wine under his arm and a pack over his shoulder, and looks around admiringly at their humble new abode.

"It's great," Steve says sincerely, putting the wine down carefully on the kitchen bench. "So big and airy."

"I love it," Isabel says, getting three flute glasses out of the overhead cupboard.

Steve then pulls his camera out of his pack. "I thought we could take some photos to remember the day," he says.

"Oh, let me just change into something nicer," Isabel says, hurrying into her room and closing the door behind her. They hear her rustling around in her wardrobe, hear material hitting the bed. She's obviously taking her pick from multiple outfits.

"We don't even have any furniture," Bucky notes, standing in the middle of the open room.

Steve waves him off, fiddling with the camera's functions. "It makes the room look bigger, like you bought a massive apartment. Makes you look rich."

"That's the goal," Bucky agrees, just as Isabel emerges again, wearing a pale blue strapless dress that flares out to below the knees in a mesh material. Her hair is styled over one shoulder, waves framing her face and red lipstick making her lips pop. Steve's never seen that dress before - it must be new - and he gulps at the sight of her.

"Alright, stand together," Steve tells them in a slightly strangled voice, waiting as Bucky and Isabel shuffle closer to each other. "Smile." The camera takes its time, but it eventually snaps the image, now waiting on the roll of film for Steve to have it developed.

They mess around a while with the camera, taking pictures of each other by the fireplace and in their bedrooms, acting like teenagers again. Steve snaps an image of Isabel he thinks may be useful in an upcoming project, or maybe just for him to keep as a memento, as weird as that is. She stands against the white wallpaper, her head thrown back in uncensored laughter at something Bucky says, one hand on her hip. She looks utterly graceful and beautiful and it makes Steve's heart want to burst with pride. Danny is a lucky man.

Bucky runs down to the corner shop later to pick up some food since they haven't been grocery shopping as yet. The options are fairly limited so late on a Tuesday night in winter. He returns with bread, meat and cheese from the delicatessen and starts on making sandwiches in the kitchen whilst Isabel attempts to show Steve the man's steps to the Jitterbug dance, doing it side-by side, which really doesn't go well. Steve is as uncoordinated as a baby giraffe, stumbling ungracefully through the steps, and they spend more time laughing at each other than actually dancing. Bucky watches them with a smile, laughing when Steve manages to trip over his own feet.

"Two left feet, hey Stevie," he says with a laugh as Steve picks himself up off the floor, brushing off his pants, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

"And you wonder why I don't dance in public," he mumbles to Isabel, who nods in agreement.

They eat their first, rather pathetic dinner at the dining room table, the only piece of furniture in this part of the apartment. After cleaning up the dishes, Bucky disappears into his room momentarily, emerging again with a chess board, the same one Steve and Bucky have duelled over for years trying to best each other. He sits on the ground in the empty living room and sets up the board, Steve hurrying down to join him, the two friends sitting cross-legged like they're children in kindergarten again.

"Oh, it's on," Bucky says when Steve joins him, pushing the pile of white pawns toward Steve.

"This is your idea of a housewarming party?" Isabel asks, laughing as the boys set up their pawns on the board.

"Chess is our go to game, Is," Steve tells her.

"We're expanding the logical, tactical part of our minds," Bucky adds.

Isabel shakes her head at them, chuckling. "Bucky Barnes, life of the party, versing his friend in a game of chess at a housewarming party that has a total of three people in attendance. That has to be newsworthy. What would the women of New York think to find out the best catch in the lake is actually a grandfather in disguise?"

"I'm growing older, Is. I'm flying past the years of partying and drinking too much. Next year, I'll be joining a book club and attending mother's meetings."

Isabel laughs at her brother, carefully pouring out three chutes of white wine. She carries them carefully, allowing Steve and Bucky to take their flutes from her full hands. "Drink your wines boys. Lets get drunk and celebrate with a game of chess."

Bucky cheers in response to Isabel giving in to his plan, downing half of his chute in one gulp. Steve sips his, a little more responsibly, actually tasting the liquid. Still holding her own glass, Isabel manages to get out Bucky's radio with one hand and sets it up in the corner, tuning the knobs until the sounds flicker to life and music fills the apartment. She sits back down cross-legged on one side of the board, preparing to watch the ever-continuing chess battle.

Bucky and Steve make a few moves each, and Bucky knocks one of Steve's pawns off the board.

"Steve, remember that time I challenged you to a game of chess in Prospect Park were they have all those boards set up? I beat you, absolutely wiped the floor with you, and you cried in front of all those people who were watching our game," Bucky asks, trying to rile Steve up.

"We were ten!" Steve protests.

"You still cried. You are a sore, sore loser," Bucky says, shaking his head. "Prepare to be one again."

"Nah uh, I'm going to win this one," Steve argues, getting a determined glare on his features as he makes another move, flicking one of Bucky's pawns off the board with his own.

They banter for ages, riling each other up and not actually taking any more turns, making Isabel shake her head at them. "You better make a move, Bucky, or we're going to be here literally all night," she warns her brother.

Bucky quickly settles down, concentrating on the game. He gets that brooding face Steve was talking about, stroking his chin as he considers his next moves. It takes Bucky a good minute to make a move, whilst Steve chooses after only a few seconds of deliberation, his eyes flicking once over the board before he moves a pawn to a new square. Isabel has no idea how he does it, how he can think so tactically in such a short amount of time. Neither does Bucky, apparently, because Bucky gets a little grumpy about it, the way he has since they were kids.

"I like being here with you guys," Steve admits quietly after a good hour of playing chess, a sheepish smile on his face.

"You could be with us all the time if you moved in, stupid. Every day is a party in a Barnes' household," Bucky points out in his typical blunt fashion.

"I realise that, jerk," Steve shoots back. "I was thinking that I just might do that."

"Hey!" Bucky cheers, leaning over to clap Steve's shoulder. "He finally comes to his senses!"

"Lay off, Bucky," Isabel tells her brother. "You know we'd love to have you. And you won't just be a house guest. It'll be your home too," Isabel makes sure Steve knows.

Steve smiles at her fondly, seemingly having made his mind up. Truthfully, he feels better and more at ease as soon as he makes that decision. His mother's apartment has felt cold and empty since she left, and he finds himself not wanting to be there often, preferring to go for walks around the neighbourhood. He knows he can't live in a house forever when he can't stand to be there.

"To new beginnings," Bucky toasts, raising his glass.

"To new beginnings," Steve and Isabel chant, all three glasses clinking together in the middle before they all take a long swig. Chess is a game best played tipsy.

* * *

A/N: So Isabel, Bucky and Steve have finally made the move. I initially wanted to make this chapter one of the first in the story, but that would have meant writing Sarah out of the story before I had really established the relationship between the characters and I felt it didn't work. I didn't want to put that kind of heartbreak in so soon before everyone was really introduced. Canonically if you follow the MCU timeline, these events are about a year too late, but what's a little change here and there? Not every part of this story will be canon-compliant considering I plan on making it my own.

For those interested, I used a website called 1940snewyork to pick the suburbs for the characters to live in. It is super interesting if you'd like to know what Brooklyn of the 1940s looked like, as it shows the current neighbourhoods compared to those of the 1940s, as well as having pictures of the buildings and streets. It gives a great insight into what the borough looked like.

I chose Fort Greene Park for Isabel and Bucky to move to as it is close to the Brooklyn Navy Yards (the docks) where Bucky would have worked. The Navy Yard, or dockyards, were located in the 1940s suburb of Brooklyn Heights, which now covers the areas we know as Boerum Hill, Brooklyn Heights, Downtown, Dumbo, Fulton Ferry, Navy Yard and Vinegar Hill. It's clear that since the 1940s, each suburb has been broken down into further neighbourhoods with the changing landscape of the population, and immigration had a lot to do with this.

I decided upon Stuyvesant for the Barnes' family apartment as at the time it was a mostly residential district with many foreign-born occupants. Of its population of 149,647 people, 72,034 were native white (this would be George Barnes and the Barnes children), and 28,889 were foreign-born white (this would be Winifred), so it seemed like a relevant suburb for the family. Russian Jews (Winifred) and Italians led the list for foreign-born whites. The rentals in this area were quite cheap, and the majority of homes were two or three-bedroom, with very few over $40 a month, an affordable price for struggling families amidst a Great Depression. If you want to learn more, I strongly recommend checking out that website. It's really interesting :)


	19. Chapter 18

**18.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **December 24** **th** **, 1942**

The group arrives early to the hall for the Christmas Eve dance at St Bernard's, which is rather crowded inside already. As promised, the roof is decorated with mistletoe and sparkling tinsel, and on every table is a plate of gingerbread men and glasses of mulled wine. Some of the music playing are Christmas carols, though mainly the usual swing music dominates, blaring out of the speakers in the corners of the room.

Everyone ignores the grumbling of their stomachs momentarily in favour of following Bucky as he battles through the crowd toward the far end of the hall. Standing there, leaning against the wall with a glass of wine each, is Connie Capone and her inseparable school friend Bonnie Alden. Connie and Bonnie became friends back in elementary school and are rarely seen without each other. Isabel's surprised that Bonnie didn't actually show up to their visit to Coney Island all those months ago.

Connie is still sporting her romantic fling with Bucky that was started when told him she was sweet on him back in high school. The two have seen each other on and off since they were eighteen, mainly serving as each other's dates for important dances and events. Their relationship is fairly odd - full of flirting and dancing and really just a bit of fun. There's nothing serious about it and never has been. They're not exclusive, and both of them like it that way. Bucky truly could have any girl in Brooklyn that he wanted, but he much preferred to flit between a few, much to Isabel's chagrin. She knows it also riles Steve up too, considering he just wants one girl. Isabel truly hopes one day Bucky will find the right girl and settle down.

Bucky waves to Connie and smirks flirtatiously. He walks up to Connie and kisses her cheek, causing Connie to blush and Bonnie to roll her eyes. Isabel hasn't seen Connie since their visit to Coney Island before Bucky was drafted. That day feels like a lifetime ago. When she sees Connie, she accepts the offered hug and is introduced to Bonnie, taking a moment to catch up since they'd last seen one another.

Bucky backs away and hangs back momentarily beside his friend. Steve watches the girls conversing in the corner, and turns to Bucky. "Is this a triple date or something?" Steve asks, looking extremely uncomfortable and glancing worriedly at Isabel in front of them.

"Well it wasn't going to be," Bucky says, a little apologetically. "I'd originally planned it to be just us three. Then, Connie was just going to tag along with us, but I should have guessed Bonnie would come, so it looks like you're with Bonnie, pal. And Isabel's with Danny I suppose, she said he'll be arriving soon, if he isn't already here. Oh, there he is," Bucky says, spotting Danny coming toward them.

Danny's a tall man, with dark hair and green almond eyes. His hair used to be much longer, Bucky remembers from seeing him around the school yard, but it's been cropped short in light of him preparing to go off to war at some point. Bucky watching him as he walks across the hall. He definitely holds an air of wealth, like he knows he's just a little bit better than everyone else in the room. Bucky tries not to let it influence his impression of Danny, but truthfully what he's heard so far hasn't been fantastic. From what he's heard, Daniel Williams drinks a lot with his friends, doesn't have to work at all for his money like a typical rich kid, and Isabel's been having doubts about him for months. Not good signs.

Bucky sneaks a glance beside him, seeing that Steve looks extremely uncomfortable, mainly with himself. He can bet anything he likes that Steve is comparing everything he has to everything of Danny, and he isn't liking the outcome. Steve may not be as tall and rugged as Danny, but he's got a heart of gold that shines right on through to the outside, something Danny noticeably lacks. Still, Bucky knows he'll make his comparisons. He feels really bad for doing this to Steve, now. He should have just pushed for it to be just then, but how can he tell his sister not to invite her sweetheart, especially when this is the time they're meant to meet?

Danny beelines straight to Isabel, planting a passionate kiss on her lips and muttering his hellos. It's one of the most notable times of affection Isabel has ever experienced with him since he's generally preoccupied with his friends, and she wonders what the reason is for the change in his demeanour. She can't ignore, however, that even with such a passionate display of affection, she feels little in the pit of her stomach.

Isabel looks a bit uncomfortable at such a display in front of Bucky and Steve, her cheeks red. "Uh, Danny, I want you to meet some people," Isabel says, directing Danny's attention to Steve and Bucky standing beside them. "This is my brother, James, and this is Steve," she tells him, pointing out the boys. "Steve, Bucky, this is Danny."

"Pleased to meet you," Steve says politely despite the uneasy feeling of jealousy in his stomach, shaking Danny's hand.

"You, too, Steve. Isabel's told me a lot about you," Danny says with a smirk, looking at Steve with a knowing gleam in his eye. "Both of you, actually. James," he greets, turning to Bucky and holding out a hand for Bucky to clasp.

Bucky eyes it for a moment before shaking it with a firm grip. He's glad for all that running and PT at basic and he makes his grip just a little tighter than probably necessary. "Danny. Call me Bucky."

"I thought that was what Isabel calls you. It's a little odd," Danny admits, making Isabel frown at him. "Childhood nickname?"

"Yeah, it stuck," Bucky says with a forced smile. He isn't sure if he likes Danny yet, but he decides not to make any assumptions too fast. He needs to be fair, not only to Danny but also to his sister. If they end up together, Danny could be a big part of his life, whether he agrees with it or not.

"So, is this a triple date?" Danny asks, same as Steve.

"I guess," Isabel mutters, shrugging her shoulders.

That brings Steve and Bucky back to their previous conversation. "So, Bonnie. What'd you tell her about me?" Steve worries, flattening his hair with his hand. Despite not actually wanting to be Bonnie's date, he will be a gentleman and he wants to make sure there aren't any odds standing against him before Bonnie even meets him.

"Only the good things," Bucky reassures.

"Steve is your date," Connie tells Bonnie, pushing her friend toward Steve and pulling Bucky away from the group toward the bar. Bucky thinks he notices a look of hurt on Isabel's face, but it clears within a second and he wonders if he imagined it. The worry on Steve's face is definitely there though, and Bucky feels regret pool in his stomach.

Steve approaches Bonnie, prepared to introduce himself. Bonnie looks Steve up and down, her green eyes critical of Steve's slight frame making Steve halt in his tracks, whatever he was going to say stuck on the tip of his tongue. Bonnie's face contorts into an expression of slight disgust before she walks away without so much of another word to him, leaving Steve humiliated and red-faced. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and hunches forward to hide his embarrassment. Isabel stands just behind him, held in place by Danny's arm over her shoulder. She feels furious that Steve was rejected so bluntly but also somewhat relieved, as horrible as it sounds. The idea of Steve with anyone else doesn't sit well with herself. She berates herself though, knowing how hypocritical she is for thinking such things as she stands in the arms of another and immediately feels guilt wreck her brain.

They watch as Bonnie marches right up to Bucky and Connie, tells Connie she isn't spending her night with a wisp like Steve, and then flits over to a group of bachelors huddled together in the corner, smoking. As she approaches, their faces seem to light up in delight and they fight to get front position to talk to the slim blonde.

"Well, she was pleasant," Isabel remarks angrily, glaring after Bonnie.

"Can't really blame her," Steve mutters under his breath, thinking Isabel hadn't heard.

Steve moves off to the opposite corner to Bonnie, taking a seat at a two-person table, leaning forward with his chin in his hand. Immediately, Bucky is by his side, his hawk-like eyes spotting Steve's change in demeanour from across the hall, especially after Bonnie's dramatic exit. Steve waves his worried friend away, telling him to go and have fun, and then proceeds to watch Bucky twirl Connie around the dance floor.

Isabel moves to talk to him, but Danny's grip on her shoulders holds her in place.

"Leave him, darlin', he's just moping because he got rejected," Danny drawls, taking Isabel by the hand and spinning her onto the dance floor.

"But-"

"He'll be okay," Danny reassures her. "Let's dance."

Danny begins to twirl Isabel around the dance floor, her dress floating through the air behind her. She keeps in time with Danny, her feet moving effortlessly across the wooden floor, heels clacking to the beat. Danny throws her around and they twist and twirl in time, jitterbugging across the floor. Steve recognises the steps because Isabel's tried to teach him so many times now.

Danny tries to keep Isabel's attention, staring at her with the utmost affection and pride as she dances in his arms, but Isabel is too distracted, constantly glancing over her shoulder to check on Steve. Steve notices, of course, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over him for her. He wants her to be happy and to enjoy her time with her sweetheart, so when they make eye contact, he smiles and waves at her, trying to put her mind at ease. He really is okay, rejection is something he's grown used to. He's quite content to sit in this seat and watch his friends have a good night, maybe have a whiskey or two. His friends' happiness makes him happy.

Still, he can't pretend that it doesn't hurt. He supposes it is his fault, though. Had he been a little bit taller, a little bit healthier, a little more confident, maybe he could have snatched Isabel up before someone else did. _La Douleur Exquise_ ; he remembers reading it in a textbook one time. A French word to describe the heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can't have. Steve thinks that's rather relevant to him right now.

When the music set ends, Isabel breaks free from Danny, who goes straight to the bar and takes a seat beside Bucky, who's taking a break as well. They start up a conversation, laughing with each other, though Bucky doesn't look like his heart is entirely in it. Isabel comes toward Steve's table and takes a seat next to him. She doesn't ask him if he's okay, thankfully, because he doesn't really know how to tell her that he's more upset that she's dancing with Danny than the fact that Bonnie rejected him.

Isabel fans her face, a little flushed from all the activity. She looks at Steve, smiling hopefully at her friend. "Do you want to dance, Stevie?" She asks.

"No, thanks. I don't really know how," Steve mutters, looking down at his now-empty glass of whiskey.

"You say that all the time, but I've tried to help you and I know that Bucky tried to teach you in the living room one time. I saw you. You two were a sight, dancing in each other's arms, swaying side to side listening to Benny Goodman," Isabel laughs. She's trying to lighten the mood and it is working. Steve can't help but chuckle, thinking that he and Bucky probably did look hilarious. Bucky had spent more time telling Steve off for stepping on his foot than actually telling him what to do.

"You can dance with me if you want," Isabel offers again. "We can take it slow. I'll show you what to do."

"That's okay," Steve says, feeling guilty as Isabel herself looks dejected. "Maybe another time," he adds.

She nods at that, seemingly satisfied by his answer. They sit in silence, watching as the couples reemerge onto the dance floor to begin the next set. They make small talk, commenting on so-and-so's dress and another guy's moves, before Danny appears before the two again.

"Let's dance again?" He asks Isabel, offering his hand silently to her and nodding his head toward the dance floor, a smirk playing on his lips.

Isabel looks hesitantly at Steve. "Oh, no. That's okay, Danny, I'll stay with–"

Steve's heart flutters when he realises Isabel is going to skip the set to keep him company. As much as he wants her to stay, he doesn't want her to miss out. "Don't just sit this out for me," Steve tells her sternly, giving her a disapproving look. "Go, have fun. Go," he reassures.

Steve pushes her arm to try to get her to stand. Isabel looks at him oddly, looking dejected by Steve for the second time that night, as though she hadn't expected him to push her away. She nods and gives in, taking Danny's hand and being pulled out onto the dance floor once again. On their way into the crowd, she catches sight of Bucky near the centre, dipping a tipsy-looking Connie low toward the ground, both their cheeks red from exertion and alcohol.

"Which dance is this?" Isabel asks Danny, unable to remember which dance style fits with the beat of the music.

"Let's just sway?" Danny suggests.

Isabel nods in agreement, spinning in Danny's arms before they bump into each other, close enough to touch chests, and begin to waltz slowly in a circle in time with the music. As they make a full circle, Isabel peers over Danny's shoulder, seeing that the seat Steve had previously been sitting in is now vacant. Confused, her eyes scan the dance hall, finally falling on the front doors, which are open just enough for her to glimpse a familiar blonde making his exit into the darkness outside. Steve's left the hall without even saying goodbye, and Isabel feels responsible; she'd left him alone at a table once again after he was rejected so bluntly by Bonnie.

"There's something I gotta tell you," Danny tells her, noticing his girl staring after Steve. Her eyes flick to his then, blue-grey meeting green. He smiles, because he has her attention, but then his lips fall into a line.

"What is it?" She asks quietly, noticing his sudden change in mood.

"I got my orders," he says quietly. "I ship out in two days."

Isabel's breath hitches at his words and their quick-stepped dance comes to an abrupt end as Isabel stares up at him in slight shock. Of course, she knew he would be leaving soon enough. Danny had attended basic over ten months ago, before he'd met her. His number is finally up. But it makes her think of her brother who also could get his orders any day now. It's a waiting game for all the men. They're all a ticking time-bomb. She opens her mouth, but she doesn't know whether she's planning on congratulating him or apologising, and he beats her out of any answer she may have given.

"I know that I haven't treated you as well as I could have. I chose the boys over you and that was wrong. You're beautiful, and fun, and light. Facing going overseas and knowing what I'm walking into has really shown me what my priorities should have been and I want to rectify that now. So, before I go, I wanted to ask you something," Danny tells Isabel.

He leans forward, toward her ear, and whispers something to her, only just audible over the music; a question that makes her eyes widen and her mouth drop open. Eventually she frowns, then looks surprised again. A whole range of emotions cross her face within seconds, and Danny waits patiently for an answer, confident that he'll be answered appropriately.

He gets a rude shock though, when Isabel shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Daniel. But no, I can't. I-I'm… I don't… I'm sorry, I just can't," Isabel stumbles through her words, shaking her head at the abruptness of it all, before she makes her escape, practically running from the hall.

Danny remains where he stood, bewildered, his arms extended questioningly as he watches Isabel disappear from sight.

* * *

Steve's been sitting quietly since he got home over half an hour ago, doodling the image of a faceless dancing couple in his sketchbook. Of course, he knows the woman in the couple is Isabel, but the man is not Danny – rather it's himself, almost the same height as the woman with a light tuft of hair that shines in the light of the hall. He's drawing himself dancing with Isabel, because that's what he should have done. It's too late now though, because he left in a huff. He berates himself for his behaviour and for letting his jealousy control his decisions.

He immediately looks up from his seat on the sofa when the front door to the apartment opens. He wasn't expecting anyone to be home so soon, considering the night is only young. Surprisingly, Isabel walks through the door, looking rather dishevelled and distressed. She moves to retire to her room, but pauses when she notices Steve sitting silently on the couch, and beelines for the other couch, plopping onto it face down and propping her face on her arms to look at Steve.

"Why did you leave?" She asks quietly, though she thinks she already knows the answer. "Was it because of Bonnie?"

Steve just shrugs in response. He quickly flips pages in his sketchbook.

Isabel sighs, but doesn't question him further. She knows dancing isn't Steve's thing, he mostly only tags along to have something to do and to have a possibility of finding the 'one'. Rather, Bucky sets him up with a dame to dance with and he hopes to find out whether she is interested or not before she switches for a more socially acceptable partner. Bonnie had been out of line, and she doesn't want to push him into talking about it when it could be upsetting. It isn't the first something similar has happened, and it probably won't be the last.

"Why did _you_ leave?" Steve questions in return. "I thought you and Bucky'd be there for a long while, yet."

"I don't think Bucky will be coming home tonight," Isabel says quietly. "Or at least, not until very late. He and Connie were getting very close on the dance floor."

Steve hums. He doesn't miss how dismal Isabel seems. She turns her head into her arms to hide from Steve, her hair falling to cover the edges of her face. "Is something wrong?" Steve asks, putting his sketchbook down. All jealousy and sourness from earlier leaves his system immediately, replaced with curiosity and concern.

Isabel sighs again, sitting up on the couch. She runs her hands through her hair, bouncing one of her curls. "Danny got his orders. He ships out Monday morning."

"Oh," Steve says, feeling that ferocious jealousy for Danny Williams return in an instant. Not only does he get the girl, he also gets to go and fight. It's funny how things seem to turn out this way. "I'm sorry," he says instinctively.

Isabel waves him off, seeming unworried. "Don't apologise, it's okay. That wasn't really the problem. We both knew it was coming someday." Steve waits patiently for Isabel to reveal the real problem. She sneaks a peek at him from under her lashes, finally looking up from the spot on the table she'd been staring at. "We broke up. He–" she stops abruptly, reconsidering her answer. "He said he couldn't promise to be faithful while he was overseas. You know, with all the women. And he also said that that he didn't expect me to stay devoted to him while he was gone for so long, either. So, he said it was better if we broke things off."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, and he fights back the enthusiastic relief coursing through him. He shuns it, ashamed of his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he says again rather lamely, unable to say anything else.

"No, it's okay. It's for the best. I just thought you should know," Isabel tells him, moving to stand up. "I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm rather tired." She hesitates, seems to debate what to do, and then steps forward toward Steve. She leans down over him, and presses a kiss to his cheek, her lips cool against his hot skin. "Goodnight," she mumbles, then stands upright and makes a swift departure, closing her bedroom door behind her.


	20. Chapter 19

**19.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **December 25** **th** **, 1942**

When Steve wakes up the next morning, the bright sunlight that indicates it's late morning is already streaming into the kitchen beyond the partition that creates his room. He sits up slowly, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes. He hadn't slept too good last night after Isabel went to bed, sitting up worried that she would be upset. He'd expected to maybe hear her crying in her room, but once the door had closed, there'd been nothing but silence.

Bucky had also wandered in around three, stumbling uncoordinated through the moonlit kitchen. He'd bumped his hip on the chair at the dining table and let out a muffled curse before tripping over the sofa in the lounge, hitting the hardwood floors with a painful thump and a much louder yelp. Steve had scrambled out of bed quickly to make sure he was okay but Bucky had just jumped up, not worried about his fall thanks to the alcohol in this system. His eyelashes had fluttered as he'd looked upward at Steve above him, his head spinning a bit as he swayed on the spot. He'd wished Steve an early, slurred Merry Christmas, which Steve had honestly forgotten about. Then, Bucky had stumbled to his room and dragged Steve along to talk and spent a good few minutes telling Steve about his night with Connie at the hall before he'd passed out on the bed. Steve had pulled the blankets up over Bucky's snoring form and removed his shoes before going back to bed himself.

Now, Steve can still hear Bucky's snores coming from behind his closed bedroom door. Isabel still hasn't stirred from her room. Steve sighs as he gets up and stretches his frozen joints, wraps himself in the blanket from his bed and walks around the partition into the kitchen. He starts up the stove, the warmth from the fire warming the cold kitchen quickly. He quickly whips up three bowls of porridge and three cups of coffee, each one different depending on how they like it - Isabel's white with two, Bucky's black with one and Steve's black with two.

Once they're ready, he walks over to Isabel's door, knocking lightly.

"Is? I made breakfast," he calls, hoping he isn't rudely awakening her.

"Coming," she calls back immediately, sounding bright and surprising Steve.

He shrugs, then knocks on Bucky's door, letting himself inside. Bucky is lying face down on the mattress, in the same position Steve had left him a few hours ago except that the blankets have been kicked down to his feet. There's a small patch of dribble on the pillow from Bucky's open mouth, and he lets out a loud snore as Steve gets closer.

"Buck, wake up," Steve says, shaking Bucky's shoulder lightly.

Bucky's snore catches and he closes his mouth abruptly, licking his lips. "Wha'd'ya want, Stee?" Bucky slurs, his eyes not opening but he frowns, grimacing. "Ow, m'head."

"Yeah bud, you had a lot to drink last night. You gotta get up and have some breakfast. It's Christmas morning," Steve tells him patiently. He's been in this position many times with Bucky, and not just since they turned twenty-one.

Bucky groans, rolling over onto his back. "Ugghhh. Merry Chr'mas. 'Appy Hanukkah, or wha'ever. Everything hurts."

"Yep," Steve says. "Get up."

Steve leaves Bucky alone, letting him have a moment to prepare himself. He goes back to the kitchen and gets out some painkillers, setting them next to Bucky's coffee. A moment later, Isabel's door opens and she walks into the kitchen. She's wearing a casual emerald green dress with a knitted jumper, her hair undone and she has minimal makeup on, but it's more than Steve expected from someone who's long-term relationship ended the night before.

"Merry Christmas, Steve," Isabel beams, giving Steve a hug.

"Merry Christmas."

"So, did Bucky give himself alcohol poisoning last night, or is he not too bad?" Isabel asks, taking a seat opposite Steve.

"He'll have a crippling headache but he'll live," Steve says. "Don't wait for him, he may be a while."

The two eat their cooling porridge in silence. Steve debates whether to ask Isabel about last night, but decides against it. For all he knows, it could have taken her all morning to compose her emotions. Instead, he reads the morning's newspaper and the two talk about how Christmas dinner will go at the Barnes' apartment later that night. When their bowls have been scraped empty and Bucky's porridge is nearly cold, Bucky finally emerges from his room, his hair dishevelled and his face pale, still wearing his clothing from the night before. He slumps into his chair, picking up his spoon and slowly eating his porridge, frowning when he realises it's gone cold.

"Merry Christmas, darling brother," Isabel teases, making the most of Bucky's misfortune.

"Yeah, right back at you, doll," Bucky replies.

"What a joyous morning of celebration," Isabel jokes, patting his hand.

"If that's what you wanna call it. It's so damn bright in here," Bucky moans, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Can't turn off the sunlight, Buck," Steve tells him, getting up to take his and Isabel's bowls to the sink.

"So, you and Connie looked like you were having a good time last night," Isabel notes.

"Connie always has a good time with me, if you know what I mean," Bucky tells her with a sly wink.

"You're a damn liar," Isabel laughs, grimacing a little. "Changing topic, how much did you drink last night?"

"I couldn't even tell you, I don't remember anything after ten o'clock," Bucky mutters, making Isabel laugh loudly again and Bucky's winces from his headache. "It isn't funny. I'm filled with regret."

"Well we don't know what happened after ten either so we can't fill the blanks," Steve informs him. "Isabel and I left before that." Isabel looks at the back of Steve's head at the sink, then looks away.

"Why'd you leave? Weren't you having fun dancing with your boyfriend?" Bucky teases.

"Uh, about that. We kind of broke up," Isabel says quietly. Steve continues to wash his bowl in the sink, barely paying attention to the water going everywhere as he listens to the conversation over his shoulder.

"You broke up? Why?" Bucky asks, seemingly snapping out of his hungover state. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, of course not! Stop trying to act all tough. He… He said he couldn't promise to be faithful while he was in the Army, and that he didn't expect me to wait around for him to return." She sighs audibly. "It's better this way," she says finally, in a voice that punctuates a meaning Steve doesn't understand. Bucky must though, because Steve turns just in time to see him silently nod.

"I'm going to get ready and then we're all going out for ice cream for lunch before we head over to Ma's for Christmas dinner. I'll pay. Ice cream is a great cure for hangovers and breakups, and it's Christmas so why the hell not?" Bucky tells them. Everyone agrees and helps with cleaning up the apartment.

Once everyone goes off to their own areas to get ready, Bucky jumps straight into the shower and Steve borrows Bucky's vacant bedroom to change in privacy, since the partition that creates his room generally doesn't leave a lot of concealment.

Whilst inside, he hears a knock at the apartment door, and the scuffle of Isabel hurrying to answer it. He doesn't think much of the low murmured voices until he hears Isabel's voice rise.

"You need to leave!" She tells the person angrily, but still noticeably trying to keep her voice down so as to not annoy the neighbours or get Steve or Bucky's attention. Steve's hunches immediately rise, and he hastily tries to get his pants on, jumping around awkwardly and tripping over the pant leg onto Bucky's bed with a muttered swear.

"No, Isabel, I'm not leaving," Steve hears a familiar male voice say, slurred, and then a loud bang as the front door hits the wall.

Isabel gasps, looking at the hole now sitting in the plaster of the wall from the door handle. "What have you done? No, get out! Get out!" Isabel hisses, her voice low again, grabbing onto Danny's arm to try to pull him back out of the apartment. Danny's noticeably intoxicated, probably has been out drinking all night after his heartbreak, and he stumbles as he walks. If Isabel tries hard enough, she can probably lead him back outside and lock him out.

"I know why you said no, why you left, why we broke up," Danny says quietly, his voice laced with anger and sadness. He turns to Isabel and grabs her arms roughly, holding her close to his face so she can hear. She squirms in his arms but his grip is too tight, leaving angry red fingermarks on her arms. "It's the same reason I asked you to marry me – I needed to know you were mine, even when I was away; that you weren't going to go off with someone else."

"Oh, like you're going to stay loyal to me surrounded by all those women in the European towns. I know what soldiers are like, Danny. When you haven't been with a woman in a good few months you'll practically jump on the first woman that advances at you."

"At least my heart isn't set on someone else - someone who doesn't want me back, someone who I can't be with. I told you that you could have had anything you want with me. Any life you desire. I'll get you out of here, Isabel, I'll get you out of these slums. I mean it. Are you really going to throw that away for someone so pathetic?" Danny whispers, his eyes heartbroken.

"I don't want that Danny, I like my life and I don't want to leave it. I'm not throwing anything away," Isabel says back, her voice strained. "And if you mean who I think you do, he is not pathe-"

"What's going on here?" Steve's voice suddenly booms from the door to Bucky's room. He storms into the living room, fists clenched, his face angry but cautious.

Danny quickly let's go of Isabel's arms, and upon seeing the red marks on her arms, Steve feels his anger flare.

"Nothing, Steve, it's okay. We're just talking–"

"It doesn't look like you're talking. Is he hurting you?" Steve cuts in.

"No, Steve. It's fine. Just–"

"He is hurting you, look at your arm. I swear to God if you hurt her–"

"–go back into Bucky's room and–" Isabel quickly tries to diffuse the tension, but Danny pushes her behind him.

"Ah, here he is. The man of the hour!" Danny slurs, cutting both of them off. "I know I've only met you a few times, Steve, but I know so much about you since Isabel never shuts up about you. ' _Steve, Steve, Steve_!'" Danny mocks in a high-pitched tone. "That's all I ever hear is about, is you and damned Bucky Barnes. I think I know more about you than I do about her, and I'm sick of it."

Danny marches up to Steve like a raging bull. "No, stop–" Isabel tries, grabbing for Danny's arm but she misses. Steve shoots her a look and waves his hand at her, motioning for her to stay back.

Danny stops right in front of Steve, who looks positively tiny next to the larger man, but Steve doesn't back down, meeting Danny's eyes. "She's my girlfriend, she should be talking about me and spending time with me. So you better back off, you puny little wisp, or I won't hesitate to show you what happens when you mess with someone else's girl," Danny growls.

Isabel sees Steve's fists clench and unclench and senses he's about to do something he'll regret. She sends a silent prayer to whoever is listening that Bucky will get out of the shower about now, that he's heard all the commotion. He's always been better at diffusing a fight. "Steve, Danny, stop, don't–"

"Isabel isn't your girl anymore. You broke up last night. And even if she was your sweetheart, you don't own her. She can hang out with and talk about whoever she wants. Besides, how can she when you're always so busy with your friends?" Steve retorts. "You hardly ever see each other because you put your friendships and your social status before her. You turned down almost every invite you received to spend time with all of us."

"How dare you pretend you know me," Danny growls.

"But I do. I can see right through you. You're just some popular, tough jock with a whole lot of money your father made and you think makes you better than anyone else, right? Spending time with us, that would degrade you? Just coming to Brooklyn is something that disgusts you, right? Don't even deny it, you have to get blind drunk to be able to spend a night in this city. And you want to get away from it, and you want to take Isabel with you. So you tell her you can give her a wealthy life, she can have whatever she wants, but it's really just an excuse so that you're not seen going steady with some poor girl from Brooklyn. I've known Isabel almost my whole life, she won't fall for that. She doesn't need material things and she doesn't need some fancy title to feel like she belongs. Everything she needs is right here."

Danny's mouth opens and closes as he searches for words, glaring at Steve.

"So if it's so bad for you to be here, why don't you head back to the Upper East Side where you belong? And don't let the door hit you on the way out," Steve says right back. Isabel has no idea how he's worked all this out considering she's never told Steve the things Danny would say about their families and he's really only met him once. "Now, I suggest you leave before you regret anything you're about to do," Steve says evenly.

Danny's eyebrows rise, clearly expecting Steve to fight back. He steps away and swallows loudly. "Fine, I'll go," he says unexpectedly, turning to make his way toward the door. "This isn't over," he adds to Isabel.

"It is," she retorts, glaring at Danny.

Steve follows behind Danny, intent on closing the door behind him once he's left. He lets himself think he's diffused the situation, that Danny is leaving, not expecting it when Danny suddenly spins around and sends his clenched fist right into Steve's nose. Despite being absolutely wasted, the guy's got a good punch. Steve hears the crack of bone and feels the eye-watering pain, crumpling to the floor in the middle of the kitchen and clutching his face as blood pours out uncontrollably.

He can vaguely hear Isabel scream for Danny to leave, calling out Bucky's name frantically. Steve looks up from the ground, panic and adrenaline coursing through him, and he tries to calm his spinning head so he can get up and help her. Steve tries to sit up but his head spins worryingly and he falls back to the ground. Danny advances on Isabel, and she walks backward into the wall. He's saying something to her and she looks helpless, her wide eyes darting between Danny right in front of her face and Steve bleeding on the floor.

"Get away from me," Isabel hisses when Danny gets closer and she reaches out, pushing Danny backward. He stumbles awkwardly onto the dining room table and rolls off, rather uncoordinated in his movements, landing in a heap on the floor. When Danny sits up, he has a small cut on his forehead above his eyebrow from where it hit the hard floorboards. He cups a clumsy hand over his eye, looking shocked, and pulls it away to reveal a tiny speck of blood. He growls, jumping up again.

"You little bitc–"

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bucky shouts, and Isabel turns gratefully to see him storming through the lounge room toward them, fury written all over his face. He's wearing pants but no shirt, his torso and hair still wet from the shower. He must have hurried out after hearing Isabel's shouts over the noise of the shower. Bucky steps in front of Isabel and Steve on the floor, putting a protective arm behind him to hold Isabel against his back. She holds his arm and peers around his shoulder at their attacker as Bucky growls, "Get away from them and out of this apartment or so help me God, I'll beat your ass into kingdom come!"

Danny takes one look at Bucky and bolts, disappearing through the door. Bucky follows, yelling after him about not returning if he wants to keep his body intact. Isabel hardly hears because she's already on the ground, kneeling beside Steve.

"Oh God. Let me look." Steve blinks at her as she looks closely at his nose, searching past the gushing blood that's gone everywhere – all over the ground, Steve's face, his clothes, and now her own hands and dress.

"Your dress," Steve says nasally.

"Don't worry about it," she replies hastily, batting Steve's hands away from his nose. Steve's eyes are already turning black around the edges, the skin of his nose stained red with blood and almost black from the bruising forming along its ridge. Bucky drops down beside her, staring worriedly at his friend. "I think it's broken," Isabel tells Bucky.

"Will he need a hospital?"

"I think I can put it back in," Isabel admits, though she seems unsure. "I just may not be strong enough to. And even if we do, it may not set properly, it might be wonky. Maybe we should go to a hospital…" She's talking herself out of her ability, doubting she'll be strong enough to fix it. If she doesn't put it back in right, Steve could be left disfigured and with problems breathing, not that he needs any more help with that.

"No, no hospitals," Steve protests, slowly sitting up with aid from Bucky. He can't afford a hospital, not when he's still paying off the bill from his mother's hospital visit and her funeral a few months ago. He'll make the decision for her. "It's probably not as bad as it looks. I trust you to fix it, Isabel."

With that, Steve tries to stand, but nearly topples back to the ground in a fit of dizziness. Bucky catches him, placing Steve's arm over his shoulders and taking almost all of Steve's weight. Isabel takes Steve's other arm over her shoulders, and together they half carry, half drag Steve into a kitchen chair.

"Thank God we don't still live at home, Mom would flip if she saw Steve like this," Isabel says, a little puffed.

"Agreed, but she's going to see him tonight," Bucky says.

"Oh no," Steve mutters in anticipation of Winifred's reaction.

"Yeah, "oh no" is right," Bucky agrees before turning to Isabel, who's busy trying to stop Steve's nose bleeding. "I thought you said Danny was nice?"

"I thought he was."

"What was his problem?" Bucky asks, grabbing a tea towel from the kitchen drawer. Steve tries to catch the blood running from his nose with it, soaking it in seconds.

"He's drunk, he's delusional, going on about how I don't spend enough time with him. Steve put him in his rightful place and he clearly didn't like it," Isabel answers, her voice steely. She goes to the ice box and comes back to them with a pack of frozen vegetables and a wet cloth, using it to wipe away some of the blood. "Jeez Steve, this is bad," she hisses.

"Well done, Steve," Bucky says sarcastically. "You didn't even have to try to initiate this fight and you got beaten up."

"Shut up, jerk," Steve retorts, sounding rather like a child with a clogged nose from a cold.

"Punk," Bucky finishes.

"It's definitely broken," Isabel grimaces, now able to see Steve's nose after clearing away some of the blood. The blood flow is minimal now, beginning to clot. The nose itself is lying on the side to the right, a horrible bump over the ridge, and is incredibly swollen.

"Yeah, don't leave it like that," Bucky pleads.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" Steve demands, worry contorting his features.

"Oh nothing, it's just laying on your cheek," Bucky tells him helpfully, and Steve's expression turns to one of horror.

"Alright, I'll put it back in," Isabel says quickly to calm Steve.

They give Steve a few swigs of whiskey until he's tipsy, trying to make it a little less painful for him. In a hospital, he'd be given anaesthetic and strong pain medication, but since Steve is adamant not to go to a hospital unless absolutely necessary, this is the next option. Isabel puts the flannel over Steve's nose for traction, grips the sides of his face, and prepares herself.

"This is going to hurt, so I'm going to apologise in advance. I'm very sorry," she warns, and then suddenly she's snapping her hands to the side with all her strength, and Steve feels the bones slide painfully back into place. He grits his teeth, trying not to scream and only lets out a whimper of pain, his eyes watering more than before. Another bucket load of blood goes everywhere, the pain worse than when it'd been punched in the first place.

"That was more than just hurting," Steve manages through gritted teeth after a few minutes of deep breathing, removing the flannel from his face. "Is it straight again?"

Isabel looks critically at his nose, then looks to Bucky for confirmation, who shakes his head. "Not quite." She prods Steve's nose carefully, feeling her way down the bone and cartilage. "The bone is in place again, it is fixed. It's just got a slight bump in it. Could be the bone, could just be swelling. We won't really know if it's straight until the swelling goes down."

Steve seems okay with this information, seems to accept his nose may not be perfectly straight as it once was. The bones themselves may be out of shape now. It isn't the first time he's dealt with a broken nose, he knows what to do. He takes himself to bed again with an ice pack over his face and falls asleep almost immediately, despite the pain he feels in his entire face, not just his nose.

Meanwhile, Isabel and Bucky take a seat at the dining room table. Isabel's arms are aching, small bruises already forming in the shape of fingertips. Bucky still looks furious, looking down at his hands on top of the table.

"Bucky?" Isabel eventually says, her voice only a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for saving us. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what would have happened."

"I know," Bucky says solemnly. Isabel looks over at her brother, who stares broodingly at the wall behind her. She gets the feeling that Bucky does know what would have happened had he not shown up. "I should have punched his face in so he knew what it felt like. I've got a good mind to go find him."

"And where would that get us? You can't fight violence with violence."

"I still should've punched him," Bucky says stubbornly. "What was his real reason for getting so angry?"

"What I said was true, he said I don't spend enough time with him. But it was also to do with last night. He said I have my heart set on someone else, and that he didn't trust me to stay loyal to him while he was gone. I don't trust him either, I've seen how he acts around other women. But he thinks the person I'm sweet on is Steve," Isabel whispers.

"Was he right?" Bucky asks quietly.

It takes Isabel a while to answer. "I dunno, Buck. I really don't know."

Bucky frowns at that. "Did you love Danny?"

"I – no. I don't think so. We talked about this before, it just didn't feel right."

"Yeah, I remember," Bucky mumbles, remembering back to the night of their conversation on the day he'd come back from basic. Isabel had been unsure about Danny even back then.

"Really, Buck. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," Bucky assures. "And if you don't want, I won't say anything to Steve."

"Thanks."

Silence falls over the room then. Isabel gets up, going to the sink and filling a bucket with soapy water. She gets down on her hands and knees and begins to scrub the floor with a cleaning brush, trying to get Steve's blood off the floor before it dries or stains the wood. Bucky kneels beside her with another towel and helps mop up the soapy red water, wringing it out back into the bucket.

Bucky suddenly speaks up, just as he's finished pouring the dirty water back down the sink. "I wonder what Steve's face is going to look like tomorrow?" He asks, trying to lighten the mood.

The siblings do find out later that afternoon when Steve finally gets up, emerging from his "room" with a groan. He's unrecognisable, his nose twice its normal size and an odd purple and yellow blotched colour, his eyes swollen and black with dried blood running out of both nostrils.

"Mom is going to be so worried tonight," Isabel sighs. "You know she'll clip your ears because you'll be injured for the family photo."

"Yeah, and you aren't getting a date for a while," Bucky tells him, fighting the urge to laugh at his friends' appearance.

"Shove it, Buck."

* * *

A/N: The moment we've all been waiting for! Though Steve didn't get a punch in, I think his words were enough to put Danny in his place finally. Not sure if this was a plot twist or not, but a few reviewers thought that Danny might turn out to be the bad guy, that he actually was treating Isabel badly, or that he would eventually die. Obviously he doesn't die, and to me, the other option isn't true. I don't think Danny is necessarily a bad guy - maybe a little snobby, a little too confident, a bit of a drunk, but I think he truly did love Isabel and was heartbroken when she said no. Isabel and Danny simply were incompatible - they lived different lives, had differing friends, couldn't find enough similarities to stay together, and Isabel, of course, has feelings for someone else. She may not know it, but Danny definitely does. I don't think he's really a bad guy, just heartbroken and angry and drunk. This isn't the end of this sub-plot, it will continue throughout the story, though this is the last time we see Danny in person.

Hope you guys liked it, please review to let me know :)


	21. Chapter 20

**20.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **May 25th, 1943**

Bucky sits out on the fire escape, watching the sun set over the Brooklyn buildings. He's silent, twirling a leaf around in his hands that he found embedded in the metal grate. It's dead, falling apart in his hands, having probably been there for quite a while.

He's been feeling rather anxious lately, feeling like his number is up. All around him, people he knows are getting called up to go off to war. He has a feeling he'll be one of the next unlucky ones. He hates the suspense of it all. He'd thought waiting for basic was bad, despite the fact that it still meant he had time. Now, his next step is war. He dreams of it every night, but he doesn't think he's even imaginative enough to think up the reality of it. He doesn't think the trenches of his dreams are damp enough, loud enough, or terrifying enough. He doesn't think the homesickness is strong enough. He doesn't think the grieving men in his dreams cry quite hard enough.

Even when he thinks back to his dad's stories from the Great War, they had always seemed more like tales of heroism than of loss and despair. His dad blocked out the terror and the brutality and only ever spoke of the friendship, the adrenaline, of saving people. He doesn't think his dad would like the remember the times when he made a new friend, only to be covered in their blood and brains the next morning. He wouldn't want to remember that either.

Bucky almost forgets Steve is sitting next to him until Steve shifts. He jumps at the movement and Steve looks at him in confusion before realising Bucky was lost in his thoughts again. He does that a lot lately.

"What were you thinking about?" Steve asks absently, continuing with his sketch of the neighbour's cat perched on the rail of the fire escape directly across the road from them. It licks its paw lazily, balancing perfectly on the thin metal, its tail flicking around lightly in the wind. _Wouldn't it be nice_ , Bucky thinks, _to be a cat and not have to worry about when you'll be called up to fight in a war you never asked for._ He thinks it would be real nice, and he's almost jealous.

"The war."

"You worried?" Steve asks.

"You could say that."

After a moment of deliberation, with the sound of the pencil being dragged across the paper, Steve speaks up. "Do Sergeants fight as much as Privates?" Steve wonders, his voice now free of the nasal sound it held while it was healing after it was broken. He's also been free of the thick white bandage for a few months now.

"Yeah, they lead the units, unless there is someone of higher rank tagging along," Bucky replies, his eyes now also focused on the jet-black feline. It makes eye contact with him, lazy green eyes sparkling in the light.

"So you'll have your own group of men, that's pretty swell. Did you have a choice about becoming Sergeant?"

"Kind of. I was chosen to join the specialised program when we were shooting targets. It was partly my choice, though they did push me into it. And I wasn't going to say no - being a Sergeant pays a hell of a lot more, so I'll have more to send back home," Bucky explains. He crumples the dried brown leaf in his hands into tiny little pieces and throws them off the fire escape, watching them float away on the wind. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a favour?" Bucky asks quietly.

"Sure, anything."

"It's a lot to ask of you, but I'm prepared to get on my knees and beg."

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asks patiently, setting down his sketchbook to give Bucky his full attention.

"I want to know that Isabel will always have someone to support her, financially and emotionally, no matter what. When she was with Danny I thought she'd always have that. Danny's family is rich, which helps, and I thought he loved her the right way. But I was wrong and he isn't in her life anymore, which is good. You are though. You love her the right way, you care about her. No matter how much money I send back to cover the rent, it isn't going to replace the fact that I'm not there. She's going to need someone to be by her side, through everything. I want that person to be you."

Steve's expression breaks, and he looks both upset and touched at the same time. "Bucky, you gotta stop thinking like that. If you keep thinking so negatively about your outcome, you might not come back," he warns.

"No, Steve. I'm going to war. There's a pretty good chance I will never see home again. I want to be able to go there with a clear conscience that my sister will always be safe and happy. Can you do that for me, Steve?" Bucky's eyes are pleading, almost glassy with tears he refuses to shed.

"This your way of stopping me from enlisting?" Steve asks accusingly, though his voice is also giving, accepting.

"Don't be like that. I don't want you gettin' hurt either."

Steve sighs. "You know I'll always look after her. Whether it be that I look after her like she's my friend, my family or something more, I'll always be there for her. Whether you asked me to or not."

"I knew you would," Bucky says in relief, finally letting himself smile. He pats Steve on the shoulder. "Just wanted to make sure."

* * *

Winifred comes over for coffee a few days later, on an afternoon when Steve is at an art class and Bucky's about to come home from work at the docks. The mother and daughter laugh with each other and cut some sandwiches, drinking their coffee and making light talk about the goings-on of the neighbourhood. Winifred fills Isabel in on Robbie and Becca's school grades, and presents her with a drawing Becca did in art class of the Barnes' siblings. Her drawings are getting better as she gets older; she attends more art classes now and she's even taken a few pages from Steve's book, asking him questions about drawing whenever she sees him, which he's all too happy to answer. Isabel promptly tacks up the drawing on the front of one of the kitchen cupboards so she can look at it whenever she wants.

Once finished their afternoon tea, Isabel picks up their coffee cups and clears the dirty plates, going to the sink, which already has the boy's breakfast plates sitting in it, to begin washing up. Winifred comes over the help her, picking up the tea towel to dry the soaked dinnerware. They clean in comfortable silence for a while, working through the pile of dishes, only the sound of splashing dishwater and the quiet squeaking of the towel against wet porcelain filling the room.

"There was something I wanted to discuss with you," Winifred eventually says, her voice wary.

"You mean you didn't just come over to catch up?" Isabel laughs. "You always have a reason for doing things, Mama."

"Let's go to your room," Winifred suggests, putting away the final plate and wiping over the counter top, leaving the wet towel on the bench.

Winifred walks to Isabel's room and Isabel follows confused, sitting on her bed. Winifred closes the door behind them, sitting beside her daughter.

"I didn't want to say anything to you, but I've been thinking about it a very long time, Isabel. You are an adult and I understand why you've done it, but I'm worried it is going to affect your life."

"What have I done?' Isabel asks quietly, her head cocking in confusion, nodding for Winifred to continue. She can't think of anything she's done that could ruin her life.

"I'm not so sure I agree with the Rogers boy living with you," Winifred notes bluntly, looking worried.

"Since when is he the Rogers boy and not Steve?" Isabel asks quietly.

She should have seen this coming. She'd explained to her parents when Steve moved in why it was happening, that it was purely for support and financial security, and that there was nothing between her and Steve and they were not, in fact, living together out of wedlock. Winifred had seemed worried but she'd accepted the situation, resigned to the fact that when she went to Isabel and Bucky's apartment, Steve would be there, too. She loves Steve as a son just as she loves Bucky, and she doesn't want to see Steve suffer, especially after the loss of the beautiful woman his mother was. But there is a line, and Winifred is worried it has been crossed.

"It isn't appropriate," Winifred says.

"You said that it was okay when we proposed it to you. If you didn't think it was appropriate, you should have said something then and we would have worked something else out. It's too late now. Besides, he has his own little room in the corner. I rarely see him except at meal times. It's hardly any different from before he moved here in that regard, except his stuff is here," Isabel points out.

"I understand that, and I know that you explained it to us. But when you and Bucky initially moved out, your father and I agreed with you that you were moving out together, which we were okay with. We knew Bucky would protect you. You didn't specify it was going to be Bucky _and_ Steve."

"Well it was just Bucky to begin with."

"You're saying that neither of you had any plans to include Steve in this living arrangement from the beginning?"

Isabel swallows, because that had been their exact plan. "I think you're forgetting that Steve's mother passed away. He needed support, emotionally and financially, and this is one way we gave that to him. He's family. Bucky and I moved out knowing it was a possibility Steve could join us. It's perfectly harmless, Mama," Isabel replies, trying to diffuse whatever thought process her mother was going down.

"It may be 'harmless' as you say, and I believe you. Steve is a good man, I know he would never act inappropriately with you and I know you will respect him in return. But _kotyonok,_ you living in an apartment with two men, even if one is family, is not going to make you a prize for possible suitors, surely you see that?" Winifred asks, inadvertently describing the reason her and Danny had fallen through. "It's harmless, but not everyone will see it that way. You didn't tell me why you broke up with Daniel Williams, but I'd assume from your current expression that this was one of the reasons behind it."

Isabel swallows down the unpleasant feelings and tries to school her expression. "I'm not a prize to be won, mother. I'm a person. And I'm not interested in dating, not right now. I don't have to worry about what the potential suitors say."

"You're twenty-two years old and unmarried. You haven't dated anyone since you and Daniel separated, and before that was when you were in high school."

"What are you saying? You want me to date lots of men and sleep around like some charity girl until I find someone appropriate?" Isabel asks sourly. "That's a good way to earn a reputation."

"Isabel!" Winifred scolds her daughter's language. "That isn't what I'm saying and you know it. I'm not proposing you be promiscuous, I'm saying that you need to settle down with someone. How do you expect to get ahead in life without a man to support you?" Winifred asks.

While Isabel can see and hear her concern, she feels her inner self-defence take over. "I won't settle down with someone I don't love. You said it yourself, I'm twenty-two. I'm young, I have a whole life ahead of me to find someone. And I'm an adult, what I do in my love life has nothing to do with you or anyone else but me," Isabel spits. "And besides, I'm employed in a respectable field. I can support myself financially. I don't need a man."

"Yes, that's why you'll have poor Bucky sending money home from the front."

Isabel's blood boils. "I didn't ask Bucky to do that, I agreed only on his insistence. He offered and I said no, but he was relentless. It's his money and therefore it's his decision whether he sends it home or keeps it for himself. I am _not_ taking Bucky's money from him. I can't believe you'd even say that."

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. "I did not mean that." Winifred sighs in frustration at her stubborn daughter. "I just don't understand why you turned down the Williams' son!"

"Conflict of interest," Isabel says simply. "As I said, I won't settle for someone who isn't right."

"But he comes from a wealthy family." The unspoken meanings behind her mother's words hang heavily in the air between them.

Isabel faces away from her mother, shaking her head in equal frustration. She stands, not really knowing where to go, and moves away to the middle of the small room. "Are you trying to say people only marry for wealth? That you only married Dad because he had money? That may be you, but it isn't me. I'm not interested in monetary wealth. I want emotional wealth, Mama. I want to be with someone because I love them and they love me and we want to spend our lives with each other by our sides."

"That sounds like one of Becca's old stories, darling. A fairy tale."

"But it isn't," Isabel insists. "It really isn't, Mama. If the relationship you and Dad have behind closed doors is the same as the one you showed us all our lives, you have that. You two married for love, your meeting was like one of Becca's storybooks. If you wanted me to marry someone for their money, you shouldn't have shown me what true love looks like."

"My darling, you live in a fantasy world. Real life isn't like that. Your life will not be like Becca's stories. The world is not a nice place," Winifred tells her, taking her daughter's hand and dragging her back to sit on the bed.

"I know it isn't. I've seen the things that are happening with my own eyes. There are things in the world we can't change, so why shouldn't we attempt to control what is in our reach. Why should we settle when we can fight for what we want? There are so many things we don't get a say in, I won't live without a say in who I get to spend my life with, too," Isabel argues, squeezing her mother's hand back. She's hoping she's finally getting through to Winifred, proving why she couldn't be with Danny.

"I know what you're talking about. I know what you want. I've seen it long before I think you ever realised it, " Winifred says suddenly, her voice losing its harshness. I've seen the way Steve looks at you, and I've seen the way you look at him. But it will never work, sweetheart. It's just what I said before, a fairy tale, a dream. He cannot provide for you what you think he can. How can Steve make you happy when he is always so sick and miserable, and without stable work?"

Isabel freezes, a pang stabbing in her heart. She is silent for a moment. Even if there was something between her and Steve and they were going steady, she wouldn't leave all of the providing to him. She would work her share. She wants him to be happy, and him being happy means him being healthy and therefore not working in the factories for a pretty penny. In sickness and in health, she'd support him, just as she does now. She'd spend every hospital visit by his bedside and she'd patch him up after every fight. She'd laugh at every joke and accept every offered kiss. She'd never take him for granted, never stop believing how special it all was.

But Steve doesn't look at her in any special way worth pointing out. She may not have been able to stay with Danny because she loved Steve, but that doesn't mean she'd ever have Steve. That doesn't guarantee that the feelings are mutual. She may have to watch Steve grow old with someone else, or not grow old at all if any of his illnesses catch up to him. She may not be happy with anyone else, she may not ever be with anyone else, but anything would be better than lying to herself and being with the wrong person.

Anger boils in Isabel, and she whirls on her mother. "Steve may be unwell and people may think he's entirely unremarkable, but there's something within him that I can't even begin to describe. Steve, he's going to change the world one day. If you can't see that, it's your own loss," she spits.

"Wha–"

"But there is nothing between us," Isabel continues, cutting off her mother. "I may care for Steve but he would never return the feelings. He always talks about wanting to meet the right girl. He wouldn't say that if he believed she was standing right beside him. I'm just his friend, his family, maybe even the sister he never had at most. I need to remember that and continue to be there for him because me and Bucky and even you and Dad, we are the only family Steve has left." It feels heartbreaking to admit it, but she feels as though she is admitting something she's always known deep down, but never had the courage to say before.

Winifred is silent for a moment, before awkwardly fixing her hairstyle that wasn't even out of place. The tension between them could be cut by a knife, the understanding they'd gained severed. Isabel thinks it's a damn shame.

"Have I made myself clear, can we drop it now?" Isabel asks, having calmed down slightly. Her mother nods her head slightly. Isabel nods too.

She stands for another second before lifting up her window and climbing out onto the fire escape. Isabel pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on her arms, looking out at the road with tears in her eyes. She hears her bedroom door open, and then the murmur of Bucky and Winifred speaking in the kitchen. She doesn't know when Bucky came home or how much he heard, and she puts her head in her arms in embarrassment.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky crawls out of the window. He's had a shower to scrub off the dirt of the docks and also probably to let Isabel have some time alone. The air has cooled, the sun almost completely set behind the buildings plunging the city into a cold darkness. Bucky brings a jacket from his room, slinging it over her hunched shoulders before sitting down next to her. Her face is still hidden in her arms, swallowed by the navy blue of the jacket.

"How much did you hear?"

Bucky sighs. "All of it, I think," he says apologetically. "I tried not to listen, but you were kind of yelling at each other. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Isabel reassures, finally looking up. Her eyes have dried, but her cheeks are still damp, now also bright red with a vicious blush. "What did she say to you? Did she tell you not to let me act on any of my feelings?"

"You know her well," Bucky admits. Both are silent for a moment, Isabel holding a hand to her forehead and covering her eyes. "You don't really believe what you said back there. About Steve only thinking of you as a friend?"

"I don't know," Isabel says after a long pause. "I just don't see how I could be anything else."

Bucky sighs, wrapping arm around Isabel's shoulders and pulling her close, her remaining in a huddled ball. "You and I, we are Steve's family now. It's our job to be there for him."

"I know."

"No matter what way Steve thinks of you, he does love you."

"I know," Isabel says, so quietly Bucky almost misses it.

* * *

A/N: So we've had quite a bit of a time jump here, from Christmas 1942 to May 1943. I thought the characters deserved a few months away from sadness and suffering. A lot happened to them in 1942, and while they're hoping for a fresh start, unfortunately that isn't going to happen. We're plummeting full speed toward movie territory now and I'm so excited!

I just love the protective side of Bucky Barnes. We've seen it in this story with his family and friends - just like Steve, Bucky will do anything and be anything for them. I think we see it a lot in the MCU as well. Bucky stays on to fight in the war so he doesn't leave Steve. Even after his time as the Winter Soldier when he comes back to Steve, most of his fighting is in the name of protecting Steve and the new friends he's made along the way. In my mind, I couldn't see how this protectiveness wouldn't be accelerated in regard to his family. He only wants the best for them, especially when he's being taken away from them and it becomes out of his hands.

Thanks for all your lovely reviews, let me know what you think :)


	22. Chapter 21

**21.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **June 14th, 1943**

After her conversation with her mother, Isabel finds herself avoiding Steve as best as possible. It hurts a little to talk to him and see him so happy and moving on from the death of his mother when she feels so broken inside. It's not that she ignores him, because she couldn't possibly. She just locks herself up in her room after dinner and emerges the next day for work. She still talks to him, trying to act normal, but she finds that even so much as looking at Steve causes her heart to hurt, as though he's reached in and crushed it with his bare hands.

Steve doesn't say anything about why Isabel spends more time hiding out in her room and only really emerging for meals and work. He just assumes that she's run down, overwhelmed by her break up with Danny a few months ago, about Bucky going overseas any day now, and about dealing with so many war-related injuries at work. He decides to give her the space she's obviously wanting, and so does Bucky, the two of them spending their nights in playing chess after Isabel goes to work or to bed.

Despite his promise to Bucky, Steve reads in the paper on an early bike run that the army is being more lenient with their recruitment. His ambition takes over the logical part of his brain, and his desperation finds him at yet another recruitment centre. He sits in the chair reading the paper again, shirtless. Next to the healthy man beside him, he looks rather pathetic and sickly, but he doesn't let that get to him.

"Boy, a lot of guys getting killed over there," the man notes, reading his own paper.

"Rogers!" A voice calls, signalling it is Steve's turn to be questioned before the medical. He puts down his paper on the chair as he stands.

"Kind of makes you think twice about enlisting, huh?" The man beside him continues, looking extremely nervous.

"Nope," Steve smiles, walking up to the podium.

"Rogers?" The interviewer asks, continuing at Steve's nod. "What did your father die of?"

"Mustard gas. He was in the 107th infantry. I was hoping I could be assigned–"

"Mother?" The interviewer interrupts.

At the mention of his mother, Steve's confidence falls, replaced by a heartache that is always there, but normally buried, only to resurface at her mention. "She was a nurse in a TB ward. Got hit, couldn't shake it."

The man shakes his head, raising the 4F stamp over Steve's form. "Sorry son."

"Will you just give me a chance?" Steve pleads, making the man halt in raising the stamp.

"You'll be ineligible on your asthma alone."

"Is there anything you can do?" Steve asks again.

"I'm doing it. I'm saving your life," the interviewer says finally, stamping the sheet roughly. He hands it to Steve, who takes it, defeated.

Steve hurriedly throws his shirt, tie and jacket back on and leaves the centre, his cheeks hot. He hurries through Brooklyn to the local cinema where he promised to meet Bucky for an eleven o'clock screening. He doesn't see Bucky anywhere, so he buys himself a ticket, hoping to find Bucky inside. He enters and looks around, not spotting the familiar head anywhere in front of him. He decides to sit near the back, close to the entrance to the screening, and settles in for the advertisements.

" _War continues to ravage Europe, but help is on the way. Every able bodied young man is lining up to serve his country,"_ the war advertisement begins, and most people in the theatre sit in silence, paying their own respects to the cause. _"Even little Timmy is doing his part collecting scrap metal. Nick work, Timmy!"_ Steve smiles as a small child walks through the frame wheeling a small red wagon with scrap metal.

"Who cares! Play the movie already!" A brute voice calls in front of Steve, rowdily pointing to the film operator in the box above them.

"Hey, you wanna show some respect?" Steve hisses, but he goes unheard, the man sitting again at his friend's insistence.

" _Meanwhile, overseas, our brave boys are showing the axis powers that the price of freedom is never too high…"_

The sounds of the ad are cut off again by the man's insistent voice. "Let's go, get on with it. Just start with the cartoon!"

"Hey, you wanna shut up!" Steve finds himself shouting, his mouth moving before his brain can catch up. The man turns to him, his eyes absolutely blazing with fury, and he snarls at Steve, who sinks a little lower in his seat.

" _Together with allied forces, we'll face any threat, no matter the size!"_

The man grabs Steve's collar and drags him from the theatre, through the lobby past the cashier who looks incredibly worried for his safety, and out into the alley behind the building. Steve is torn between hoping Bucky will turn up to drag the guy through the dirt and attempting to do it himself.

The man immediately starts laying into Steve, punching him hard in the side of his mouth, drawing blood. Steve falls to the ground but scrambles back up, arms raised in the fighting position. He doesn't even manage to get a punch in before he's knocked down again, pain exploding in his arm when he hits the ground and makes a loud splash in the muddy puddle. Steve stands again, holding up a trash can lid as a shield, glaring at the smug man.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" The man sneers, laughing as he prepares to attack again.

"I can do this all day," Steve counters, forcing his legs to propel him forward.

The man easily knocks his shield from his hands, punching him one more time in the face and sending him flying backward into the metal trash cans onto the ground. Steve sees the man stand over him, leering, raising his leg to deliver one final blow.

"Hey!" A voice yells, and suddenly the man is pulled away from Steve by the collar, and Bucky is pushing him away out of the alley. "Pick on someone your own size!"

The man takes this as an invitation for another fight and makes a swing at Bucky's face. Bucky dodges it easily, the fist flying past his nose. He uses the man's momentum to spin him around, sending him running out of the alley with a kick to the backside. Bucky watches him go, making sure he's definitely leaving, before walking back over to Steve, who is just picking himself up off the ground.

"Sometimes I think you like getting punched," Bucky notes, leaning down to pick up the enlistment letter that has fallen out of Steve's pocket and onto the ground.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve says stubbornly, busy dusting the mud off his beige jacket. "How'd you find me?"

"Don't I always find you?" Bucky asks. "Cashier told me you got dragged into the alley. Seemed to think I'd probably find a dead body."

"I was fine."

"How many times is this?" Bucky asks, reading the form. "Oh, you're from Paramus now. You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment from. I'm sure Is told you. Seriously, Jersey?"

Steve looks up then, using his jacket sleeve to stench the blood flow from his split lip. He notices Bucky's official army uniform, the hat titled on his dark hair, and his face falls. "You get your orders?"

Bucky almost sighs, but instead tips his head backward, a cocky smile flitting onto his features. "Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow." His voice fades toward the end, but otherwise he retains his confident facade.

"Do your parents know?"

"Went round there and told them first thing this morning," Bucky nods. "Ma cried, Dad told me he was proud."

"Does Isabel know?"

"Yeah, I told her afterwards. It wasn't good."

Isabel had cried and cried when he'd told her. It all suddenly felt very real. Bucky had let her cry into his shoulder, clutching onto him tightly. When she'd pulled away, her eyes had been serious and panicked.

"Bucky, listen to me," she'd said, grabbing his shoulders to centre him to her. "Mom taught us the prayer that you gotta say if it's the end and you've got time. Do you remember it?"

He did remember and she'd made him repeat it and promise he'd say it if he was in a circumstance he didn't think he'd make it out of. The prayer felt big and solemn rolling off his tongue, lines his body had never wanted to welcome.

"I should be going," Steve mumbles, bringing Bucky back to the present.

Bucky's eyes catch on Steve's split lip, the blood on his cheek. "No, you shouldn't be. You promised, Steve. Isabel is going to need you now more than ever," Bucky reminds him, his voice extremely solemn. Steve looks at him, then nods.

"Come on, man. It's my last night. We gotta get you cleaned off," Bucky says, grabbing Steve roughly and dragging him along out of the alley. He throws away Steve's rejected enlistment form, leaving it to rot in a puddle of muddy water.

"Why, where we going?" Steve asks.

"The future," Bucky smirks, handing Steve a brochure for the World Expo.

* * *

"I don't see what the problem is," Bucky is saying as he walks a freshly changed Steve toward the Modern Marvel's Pavilion, passing the World Expo statue in the Flushing Meadows Park. The massive globe spins on its axis in a marvel of metal and colourful lighting, a futuristic train passes overhead with a loud roar, and the night sky is lit up by firework explosions all around. "You're about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know there's three and a half million women here." Bucky almost looks jealous, since Steve knows it'd be his dream to court each and every one of them.

"Yeah, well I'd settle for just one," Steve mutters, looking down at his shoes with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Good thing I took care of that," Bucky says smugly, making Steve look up.

"Hey, Bucky!" A female voice calls from the base of another statue, where Connie and Isabel are standing, waiting for the boys. Bucky waves at Connie, a bright smile lighting up his face. Steve glares at Bucky for a second before conceding, sighing and fixing his fringe. He gulps and stands a little straighter as they finally meet up with the women.

"Ladies," Bucky greets, kissing Connie's cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist. He raises his eyebrows to Steve as if daring him to do the same, but Steve stays back and gives him a quick glare.

"Hey, Is," Steve says quietly.

"Steve," she greets with a smile, but it lacks any true happiness, her eyes noticeably dark.

Bucky drags Connie off toward the entrance gates of the Pavilion to buy their tickets, leaving Steve and Isabel to wander along behind. Isabel holds her purse with both hands and Steve has his hands in his jacket pockets, both of them hunching in on themselves. While Connie purchases the tickets with the wad of notes Bucky handed to her, Isabel looks around at the growing crowd around them. Bucky gives Steve a look as they take their tickets and start through the gates, showing their admission slips to the guard. Once they're cleared, Steve gulps and then turns to Isabel, offering her his arm. She smiles at him and takes it, threading her hand into the bend of his elbow.

" _Welcome to the Modern Marvel's Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow. A greater world. A better world!"_ The announcement says as they walk through the area, weaving through crowds of ecstatic people to see the exhibits. In a glass case stands a wax figure in a tight spandex suit, a superhero of sorts, whilst on the stage in the far corner is a red motorcar with thick whitewall tyres. In the middle is a large-scale model of a planet, showing its inner layers and its glowing core in the middle. Model rocket ships and cars float overhead, supported by wire to make them look as though they're flying.

Bucky and Connie walk hand-in-hand, Bucky smiling like a kid in a candy shop at all the science.

At some point Steve buys some popcorn, appearing back by Isabel's side with the small bag in his hand. He offers her some and she takes a handful, picking at it as they walk. They stop when they hear a gathered crowd begin to clap, drawing their attention.

Connie gasps. "Oh, my god! It's starting!" She says excitedly, dragging Bucky toward the stage. He follows willingly, running after her. Steve and Isabel shrug at each other, following behind. They huddle into the crowd who clap, watching five women dressed in top hats and skimpy dresses stand in front of the red motorcar.

"Ladies and gentleman, Howard Stark!" One announces, the women holding their top hats and pointing as Howard Stark himself runs onto stage, flirty as he hands over his own hat to one announcing his arrival and pulls her in for a long smooch. The crowd cheers and chants, a woman in the crowd professing her love for the wealthy celebrity, who wipes the red lipstick from his mouth.

Beside Steve, he sees Isabel roll her eyes, which makes him laugh. "He's such a show off," she says.

"Ladies and gentleman. What if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won't even have to touch the ground at all?" Howard Stark asks through the microphone, his voice filling the auditorium. The women easily remove the white-walled tyres from the red car, moving them to the side of the stage. "With Stark Gravitic Reversion Technology, you'll be able to do just that."

Stark presses some buttons and moves a lever, making the car lift from the ground, hovering in the air. Everyone watches with dropped jaws as the car supports itself.

"Holy cow," Bucky mutters in utter appreciation.

Suddenly, the machinery replacing the car's calipers shorts out, exploding and sending the car plummeting to the ground. The audience jumps backward with a shout, making Isabel grab Steve's arm in fright. Her eyes wide meet Steve's, and she immediately dissolved into laughter, letting go. In front of them Bucky laughs at the failure, still amazed by what he's seen. He turns around to smile at Steve excitedly, feeling giddy.

"I did say a few years, didn't I?" Stark says smoothly, making the audience laugh.

Conversations start up amongst audience members, the incessant chatter the perfect distraction for Steve to sneak off to the Enlistment centre he spots behind them. None of Steve's friends notice him leave, watching as Stark awkwardly laughs off his mistake and talking about what they've seen.

"Shall we go dancing by the band?" Bucky asks, having spotted another stage on the other side of the pavilion with a band playing music and a crowd of couples dancing. Connie seems enthusiastic and Isabel shrugs, so Bucky's smile widens. "Hey, Steve, what do you say we treat these girls…" Bucky says, turning around and trailing off when he sees only his sister behind him, with Steve nowhere to be seen. His eyes scan the crowd, immediately falling on the recruitment poster.

"Where'd Steve go?" Connie asks beside Bucky, clinging to his arm.

"I'd bet my bottom dollar he's trying to enlist again," Bucky says with a sigh. "Come on girls."

Bucky leads them through the crowd toward the temporary recruitment centre set up for the Expo. The three of them walk up the stairs toward the oval-shaped building, a bustle of uniformed men and other's just enlisted walking in, out and around the building.

"I'll go in and get him," Isabel says, leaving Bucky and Connie standing by the entrance before they can reply.

Once inside the building, she watches as Steve steps up onto a metal plate, his image reflected in the face of a painted soldier on the wall. Only, his face doesn't quite match up to the soldier's, his eyes and forehead only just visible in the man's chin. Isabel sighs, feeling bad for her friend.

"Steve, what are you doing?" She asks patiently, appearing next to him.

"Belle, come on," Steve groans at being found so quickly, having not even had the chance to try to enlist before he's about to be talked out of it.

"Don't 'come on' me. If you wanted to enlist you should have gone straight in and done it instead of puncing around with this," she says, waving a hand to the soldier's form on the wall. "You knew we'd work out you were gone and we'd come and find you."

Steve looks past her, spotting Bucky and Connie standing impatiently by the entrance. "You guys go back to the pavilion, I'll find you when I'm done. I'll be quick."

"No, Steve. We aren't going without you." Isabel sighs, a heavy breath. "Please, don't enlist," she asks of him, taking his hand in her own. "Stay here in New York. Don't go away."

"I have to," Steve protests. "I need to do this." His eyes are pleading and he squeezes her hand in reassurance, and Isabel has to look away.

Bucky appears next to them then, shoving Steve's shoulder and pushing him off the plate slightly. "Come on. You're kind of missing the point of a double date," Bucky notes. "We're taking the girls dancing."

Steve turns around, looking like he's resisting rolling his eyes. "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you," he offers again, standing next to Bucky with his hands in his pockets.

Bucky nods his head, a frustrated smile on his lips. "You're really going to do this again?" He asks. He's never had as much patience with Steve's antics.

Steve nods, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."

Bucky looks behind Steve angrily, then meets his eyes. "As who, Steve from Ohio? They'll catch you. Or worse, they'll actually take you."

Steve nods his head, then looks down at his feet. "Look, I know you don't think I can do this–" Steve begins, but Bucky cuts him off.

"This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war."

Isabel puts a hand on her brother's uniform-clad arm. "Buck, calm down–"

"I know it's a war," Steve says easily.

Isabel frowns at their arguing, looking away in frustration. Her eyes eventually land on an older man with grey hair and rounded glasses who walks toward them with a handful of files, stopping in his tracks to listen to Steve and Bucky's conversation. He looks curious of Steve, almost admiring him for his strength and determination.

"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs," Bucky cries, exasperated.

"What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal–"

"Yes!"

"–in my little red wagon?" Steve asks stubbornly.

"Why not?"

"I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky."

"I don't–"

"Bucky, come on," Steve persists. "There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

Isabel watches as the older man closes his eyes momentarily, nodding to himself as if he's found something he's been looking for. She looks away, confused, back to Bucky, gauging his reaction.

"Right," Bucky says sarcastically, nodding his head as he makes eye contact with Isabel. "'Cause you got nothing to prove?"

Steve is silent, closing his mouth against any argument. He looks at Bucky stubbornly, maintaining eye contact. He isn't going to be the one to back down, not this time.

"Hey Serge! Are we going dancing?" Connie calls to Bucky from the entrance, watching impatiently as Bucky and Steve argue. She has no idea what about though, considering she's too far away.

Bucky turns confidently toward Connie, extending his arms out. "Yes, we are."

While Bucky's still turned away, Steve smiles sadly at Isabel. She nods back, mouthing _"I understand"._ She reaches out and holds his arm, patting it sadly.

Bucky turns back around, and Steve smiles sheepishly at Bucky. Bucky shakes his head, searching for the right words as he takes a few steps away. He looks at Isabel in acceptance, then back to Steve. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back," he tells Steve, his tone both light and serious at the same time.

"How can I?" Steve shoots back. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky laughs, shaking his head as he comes back in for a hug.

"You're a punk," Bucky says seriously.

"Jerk," Steve replies, accepting Bucky's hug and patting him on the back. As they pull apart, Steve says, "Be careful."

Bucky nods. He then looks at Isabel, who makes no intent to move and follow him. He knows she'll be there to see him off tomorrow. Steve watches solemnly as Bucky walks away toward Connie. "Don't win the war 'til I get there!" Steve adds. Bucky turns and sloppily salutes him, before meeting up with Connie.

"Come on, Con. They're playing our song," he tells her, holding her waist as they walk off down the steps away from the centre.

"What about you?" Steve asks. "You gonna go dancing?"

"I'm not really in the mood. I'll stay with you," Isabel says with an understanding smile.

Steve nods, shoving his hands back in his pocket. He turns and walks into the recruitment centre to check in, Isabel walking by his side. As she passes the man who'd been watching them, she notices him stare at Steve as he walks past, his eyes sparkling. The man then meets her eyes, and gives her a reassuring smile. She looks away, frowning. Just before they turn the corner, she looks back again, and the man is still watching after them.

* * *

Isabel sits in the waiting room, patiently watching the hustle and bustle of the tiny room. Steve disappeared into the curtained area over a twenty minutes ago for his medical examination, and a few seconds later, the man who'd watched them had gone in behind him. She supposed he may be a doctor or an official, considering he looked more professional and had been holding a wad of paperwork. But the way he'd watched their exchange and watched them walk into the building was unnerving. She's worried the man had seen Steve's potential and determination and is going to enlist him.

She becomes increasingly fidgety as time passes, her thoughts running wild. Perhaps Steve's been caught out for lying. It does seem overly suspicious that he's being kept for so long. It never takes such a long time, they normally take one look at his form and stamp it 4F straight away. Isabel taps her hand on her knee, looking around worriedly. She really should have gone with Bucky.

Eventually the curtain opens and the man walks out, holding it open for Steve to emerge. Isabel immediately stands up and makes her way over to them.

"I can offer you a chance," she hears the man say. "Only a chance."

"I'll take it!" Steve replies hurriedly as though the offer may be taken away if he doesn't reply fast enough. Steve looks tiny next to them man as the doctor sorts through the stamps to find the one he wants. Isabel stops next to Steve, looking questioningly at her friend.

"So where is the little guy from, actually?" The man asks, looking expectantly at Steve.

"Brooklyn," Steve says proudly. The man nods, stamping his form, before handing him the file.

"Congratulations, soldier," the man says with finality, flashing a smile to Isabel as he turns and walks away, disappearing into a corridor. Isabel watches him with wonder as Steve quickly flips open the file, revealing it has been stamped "IA". Steve stares at it, taking a deep breath of relief. Beside him, Isabel also takes a deep breath to calm her racing mind.

Steve smiles, looking up at her with determination. "I have a chance."

* * *

A/N: We've finally made it into movie territory. Hello Captain America: The First Avenger! The story will try to stay as close to story canon as possible, though I will definitely be filling in many of the blanks in the plot and may be using some aspects of the comics :)

So sorry for the long wait on this chapter! Life really threw me a curve ball lately and I haven't had any time to upload, let alone write anything. I had to do a two week university course to catch up a subject, as well as work and play sport. Then, we had to put down my dog that I've had for many years due to an untreatable illness. Finally, my dad is in hospital at the moment awaiting surgery. Needles to say I've been very busy and haven't felt much like writing. I've gone back to normal university classes now so uploads may still be stunted but they'll be coming :) thanks for being so patient!


	23. Chapter 22

**22.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **June 15th, 1943**

The docks are positively packed with grieving parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, and more, all of them saying a heartfelt goodbye to their boys as they sail away to Europe. A band plays patriotic hymns at the far end of the dock, the melody revving up the men as they make their way up the ramp and board the ship, waving to their loved ones from the decks, suitcases in hand and uniforms donned.

Becca holds tightly to Isabel's arm as the Barnes family stand around Bucky in the middle, dressed in his Army blues and looking as though he's trying not to fall apart. Steve had said another goodbye to Bucky at their apartment early that morning. He'd woken up feeling weak and unwell, barely able to breathe, probably due to being out late in the cool air the night before. Bucky had said his final goodbyes, promised again not to win until Steve got there, and dragged Isabel out the door before Steve could put up a fight.

Winifred fusses over Bucky a while, making sure he has everything packed. Not that it's possible to hurry back and get something if he had, but it's the thought that counts. Then she's hugging her eldest son goodbye with tear-filled eyes, fussing some more over his uniform, straightening his tie. She pinches his cheeks and tells him to be careful. She has a warm mother's touch, one that Bucky knows he will miss painfully when he's gone. He leans into her embrace, trying to memorise the feel of her familiar arms around his neck and the smell of her cheap perfume, the one she's worn since he was a child.

George Barnes shakes Bucky's hand tightly, tells him he's proud of him. He claps Bucky's shoulder, a sadness in his own eyes, and Bucky feels a mutual understanding about to become known between them, one that never could have been there had Bucky not gone to war. Bucky is about to see firsthand the effects of war on a person, and perhaps that will bring him one step closer to knowing his father, or rather, the man his father had been changed into. George nods and then steps to the side.

Becca lets go of Isabel's arm, running into Bucky's offered embrace. Bucky lifts her off the ground and spins them in a circle, both of them laughing. His army cap flies off his head and Robbie hurries to pick it up from where its flown down the dock, avoiding the trampling of people's feet.

"I'm going to miss you," Becca says into Bucky's neck, hugging tightly.

"And I'll miss you more," Bucky promises, setting her down in front of him. "Be good for Mom and Dad while I'm away." Robbie comes back then, sticking the hat wonkily back on Bucky's head. "And you too, Robbie. Be good, help Mom and Dad, and both of you do your schoolwork. I'm so proud of both of you," Bucky adds to them both, grabbing Robbie in a hug as well. "I'll be back before you know it."

As Becca backs away from Bucky, she has tears in her eyes. She runs to Winifred, allowing himself to be enveloped in her mother's arms. Robbie hands Bucky a comic book for him to take with him, one of his favourites that Bucky used to read to him, and Bucky takes it gratefully, rolling it up and pocketing it inside his jacket. Bucky looks up then, stepping closer to Isabel.

"You'll be fine," Isabel says, both a reassurance to Bucky and to herself. She straightens his cap on his dark hair and then leans into Bucky's warmth, holding him close. "Please, be careful. Promise me you'll come home again."

"You know I will," Bucky promises. "Couldn't leave my best girls."

Isabel smiles, pulling away from Bucky's hug. "Write as often as you can. I know it'll be tricky when you're on the move, but if I hear from you that you're doing well it will be more comforting than you'll probably ever know."

"Only if you write back," Bucky insists. "Keep me updated. I want to know all the bits of gossip you learn at the hospital. That stuff is entertaining."

"I'll ask Katrina and Molly every day for something new to tell you, I promise," Isabel says with a laugh. Many a nights they've been entertained by what Isabel learnt in her shifts at the hospital. They can never look at some of the people in their neighbourhood the same again.

Bucky smiles at her, his eyes crinkling. Then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small envelope. He puts it into her hands, closing them around it to hide it. "If something does happen to me, if I don't come back… This is for everyone to read," he says in a voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Bucky–"

"Please. Look after it."

Isabel looks down at the envelope in her hand. She sighs shallowly before putting it in the pocket of her dress. "I will," she promises, giving him one more tight hug.

The loud blaring of the boat's horn rings out over the docks, signifying the soldiers to hurry and board. Bucky looks surprisingly calm. "I'll see you all soon. I love you guys," he calls, slowly walking backward away from them. They watch as he makes his way down to the entrance of the ship, walking up the ramp with the crowd and onto the deck. He walks back down the boat to the deck near them, leaning against the banister and waving back.

The ship eventually moves away from the docks, the horn resounding through the harbour once again. The Barnes family stands on the dock watching the boat chug off into the distance until they can't see it anymore, only a speck on the far-off horizon.

Winifred and George head off with the children, Winifred and Becca both shedding silent tears. Isabel stands a while longer, until almost everyone else has cleared from the docks, almost as though if she waits long enough the ship will circle back to drop them all back off. But it doesn't, eventually disappearing in the distance en route to England.

 _Bang, bang, "Brother? Do you have a brother?"_

Isabel flinches as the memory resurfaces out of nowhere, hitting her like a ton of bricks.

" _Don't let him go."_

" _I can't stop that._ "

" _You don't need to worry. I'm sure he can handle himself."_

" _No one can."_

Isabel takes a deep steadying breath, screwing her eyes shut against the image of the blinded, burnt limbless shell of a man lying on the hospital cot. The image slowly fades away, giving way again to the sight of the churning water in front of her. Isabel takes another breath, chews on her fingernail, and then turns on her heel, feeling a sudden need to escape the docks. She can't be bothered catching the subway, so instead she dejectedly and hastily weaving her way through the Brooklyn streets.

When Isabel finally reaches home, she finds all of Steve's stuff strewn messily across the living room. She walks through the apartment that looks like a tornado stormed its way through, finding Steve sitting heavily on the bed in Bucky's room, a worn suitcase opened in front of him and half packed with his clothing and possessions.

"What are you doing?" She asks quietly from the doorway. Steve jumps, having not heard her enter.

Steve looks a little guilty, but he also looks worryingly pale and weak, slouching where he sits. It's probably taken him all morning to get this far. "How was it? Did Bucky get off alright?"

Isabel narrows her eyes at Steve. "It was fine. Mom and Becca got pretty emotional, but what can you expect? Bucky'll be thousands of miles away within a few days." She shakes her head. "Don't change the subject, Steve. What's with the suitcase? The packing?"

"Last night at the recruitment centre, I said I've been given a chance?" Steve begins, and Isabel nods. Steve hadn't said much about it, had said it was confidential, but Isabel has the feeling he didn't know a lot about what he was getting himself into anyway. "I'm going to basic training, of sorts."

Isabel is very quiet, her lips in a flat line. "To become a soldier?"

"Of sorts."

"That's very vague," Isabel observes, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning in the doorway. She presses her arms firmly against her to hold in the emotions threatening to burst out of her.

"I can't talk about it, it's confidential," Steve finally whispers.

"I know, you said last night," Isabel says, her voice accepting but suspicious. "When do you leave?"

"Today. At two."

Steve sees Isabel visibly wince. She hides it by looking behind her at the clock on the kitchen wall. 12. "And when will you be home?"

"In two weeks. On the 29th."

"That's shorter than Bucky went to training for. Shorter than the average basic, too," Isabel notes, her eyebrow raised.

"Yes, much shorter. It isn't a regular boot camp, I don't think," Steve agrees. He manages to close the lid to his suitcase, clipping the latches shut with a grunt.

Isabel nods. Steve isn't going to say anymore. "Are you sure you should be going? You don't seem very well today and boot camp certainly won't help," she notes, stepping forward to hold her hand to Steve's forehead. He hasn't got a temperature.

"I'm fine," Steve promises, making himself sit a little straighter. "Just feeling a little under the weather."

Isabel nods again. There's no use arguing with Steve. She knows how much he wants this, and he certainly won't let a cold hold him back.

She disappears momentarily, and Steve hears the sound of rustling paper in her bedroom before Isabel reappears and hands him two rectangles wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. He takes them from her, feeling the weight and shape of the two books through the layers of newspaper. "To keep you entertained on the bus or ship or whatever you'll be travelling on. Just try not to wreck them, they're my only copies."

"Thanks, Belle. I won't, I promise," Steve says, putting the two wrapped books carefully into his bag that he'll carry on the bus to Camp Lehigh. He secures that bag too, it being ready to go, and sighs. He looks around at how much he has left to pack, clearly not having the energy.

Then, he stands with some effort and moves right up to Isabel, his eye line direct with hers. "I'm sorry," is all he can say, because it feels like the guilt of leaving her is choking him and clogging his thoughts and he can't think straight.

"It's okay," Isabel says.

"I feel terrible, for leaving you when Bucky just went away…" Steve trails off.

"It really is okay, Steve," Isabel reassures with a forced smile. "This is what you want. I may not agree with it and I may not see the sense in it, but you're my family and I support you in whatever you endeavour. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She smiles at Steve, but it's sad and it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Steve pulls her into a hug. She leans her head against his shoulder, and Steve pulls away all too soon. "Be careful."

"You know I will."

"No, I really don't know that," Isabel laughs.

The two hours until Steve gets picked up passes in a blur as Isabel fusses over his packing choices, helps him fit everything in and feeds him one last meal. They eat their late morning brunch slowly at the dining table, making small talk, though there isn't much to talk about considering Steve isn't allowed to speak about his impending boot camp and any conversation about Bucky is a little too hurtful.

At five minutes to two, Steve stands and gathers up his suitcase, preparing to depart downstairs to wait for his ride. He stands by the front door a moment, double checking he has everything from the mental list in his head.

"You have your asthma cigarettes?" Isabel checks, appearing beside him.

"Yep, in my backpack."

"And all your other medications?"

"In there too," Steve reassures, the medications bag weighing down the pack on his back.

Isabel nods. "And make sure you eat as much red meat and spinach as you can get in the mess hall. Last thing we need is your iron levels dropping too low again with all that exertion," she pushes.

"Isabel, I'll be fine," Steve says with a laugh, pushing away her hands that flit around his hair and face, tidying the untamed blonde locks. "I'll be okay, and I'll be home in two weeks."

"I know," she says with a sad smile. "You're still sure this is the right thing?"

"I'm sure. If I wasn't, I'd stay."

She pulls him into another hug, tight around his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. "I don't ever want to let go," she eventually says with a laugh.

Steve secretly wishes she wouldn't. "If I could bring you along to basic, I would, but I think you'd get an awful lot of unwanted attention."

"And I'm sure you would take it upon yourself to sort it all out for me," she teases, pulling away with a lot of effort. "I'm going to take a page from Bucky's book and tell you not to do anything stupid."

"I won't," Steve laughs. The two stare at each other for a moment, the clock on the wall ticking loudly toward two in the afternoon. "I'd better go," Steve mutters, picking his heavy suitcase up from the ground.

"Yep," Isabel says, her bottom lip trembling only a little bit. "Good luck," she says, pressing a final kiss to his cheek.

Steve nods his thanks and quickly makes his way out the apartment door. Isabel watches him struggle down the staircase, managing to get to the floor level. He turns and smiles up at her from the bottom, waving, before disappearing through the front door of the complex and out onto the street.

Isabel closes the apartment door slowly, acutely aware of the silence permeating the large living room and kitchen. She leans against the door for a moment, her legs feeling a little weak beneath her. It hits her suddenly that she's now all alone with her own thoughts in the apartment where everything reminds her of them.

* * *

The two weeks pass incredibly slowly. Isabel fills in her time with work, taking on every extra shift she is offered. She's barely home the entire two weeks, and some nights she sleeps at the hospital just so that she isn't home alone.

Every night that one of the nurses invites her out to drinks after their shift, she accepts and accompanies them to the bars, something she doesn't normally do considering they're all normally beyond exhausted. Thy sit in a booth in the corner and a few of the flirtier nurses use their charms to get them all drinks bought for them by the men at the bar. Isabel laughs along with them and keeps up with their alcohol intake, letting the drinks wash away both the loneliness of her home and the pain when she thinks of her patients. At the end of the night they pile into a taxi and help each other get home. Isabel stumbles into her apartment, locking the door behind her, and somehow makes her way to her bed. It goes that way a few times, and then she wakes up the next day and goes to work again.

Isabel takes herself to the markets on her only full day off, spending hours walking between stalls and purchasing what she needs. The stall workers seem a little too cheery for her, but she smiles back and hands over the money, shoving her purchases in a canvas bag over her shoulder.

Isabel buys a few extra things to drop off to her mother on the way home, accepting the invite to stay for coffee and ending up staying for dinner as well. Dinner is a solemn and quiet affair, and when Robbie asks where Steve is, Isabel just shakes her head. She helps clean up the dishes and then she has a look at one of Becca's latest art projects, a painting of their street. It's beautiful, and she knows Steve would be proud of it. She tells Becca that, and the girl beams. Winifred tacks it to the front of the pantry door.

Once darkness falls and the family runs out of things to do, Isabel stands and says her goodbyes for the night. She shoves on a coat, even though it's probably not that cold outside.

A hand on her arm stops her from leaving.

"You aren't walking home alone at night," George tells her. "I'll drive you."

The father and daughter sit in the warmth of the family car as it putters along through the streets toward Isabel's apartment. The streets are busy as it's summer, lots of people out and about. The radio plays softly in the cabin, drowning out the outside noise.

George pulls up to the curb outside his kids' apartment, putting the car out of gear and enabling the handbrake. He turns to his daughter, looking at her expectantly.

"You want to tell me what's got you so down?" George asks quietly.

"It's nothing," Isabel says hurriedly.

"Don't lie to me, darlin'. You're my daughter, I've known you your whole life. Something's got you sad and I could tell the second you walked in the door this afternoon."

Isabel sighs, looking away. "It's silly, but I miss them."

George sighs. "It ain't silly," he reassures, pulling on Isabel's arm and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "They've been a big part of your life for a really long time. They're not just friends, they're family. And both of them left at the same time, went away somewhere that's unsure. If you weren't missing them and worried for them, I'd be questioning it."

Isabel nods, wiping away a stray tear.

"Your apartment a little too big and quiet?" George asks knowingly. Isabel nods. "What if I send Bec over for a few days. Then you won't be alone?"

"Please," Isabel says. "But only if she hasn't got anything else on."

"She's on holidays and she misses you too. I'm sure I won't have to ask her twice."

* * *

Isabel gets home from her shift the next day around five, heading straight to the bathroom to wash up. Once she's fresh and no longer smells like sanitizer, she beelines for her bed and face plants straight into the pillows, content to just lay there for the rest of the night.

She jolts when there's a knock at the door, and hurries up to answer it. Her eyebrows rise when she's greeted by Becca, who stands on the other side of the door, smiling at her. Then she remembers the conversation with her father the night before and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Bec."

"Hi, Issy. I hope you aren't busy but I thought we could hang out."

"You don't gotta act like it was your choice to come. I know Dad asked you to spend some time with me. But I always have time for my baby sister," Isabel invites her inside, engulfing her in a tight hug.

"I did want to come, I wanted to come weeks ago, just didn't want to interrupt your work," Becca promises, hugging back just as tight, almost as though she knows what Isabel's thinking.

"You still hungry?" Isabel asks, moving to the kitchen to make herself something, since she hasn't eaten yet.

"Yep," Becca says, waltzing up to the counter.

"What a silly question. Aren't you always hungry?" Isabel laughs.

"Of course, I'm still growing. I'll pass you soon if you aren't careful," Becca says proudly.

She's nearly thirteen now, not that much shorter than Isabel, and she's certainly matured in the last few years. The shock of the war has had a profound effect on every child her age, throwing them forward into their teenage year maturity well before their time.

"I'd better watch out," Isabel murmurs, smiling at Becca. She slides a plate with a sandwich down the counter and Becca catches it, taking a bite.

They sit down at the kitchen table to eat. "So, what's it like here by yourself?" Becca asks, polishing off her sandwich quickly.

"It has its perks; I can listen to whatever I want, whenever I want, and the same goes for what I eat, and there's hardly any washing up. Still, it isn't the most enjoyable thing I can think of, but it isn't horrible. It just gets kind of lonely."

"Yeah," Becca sighs, resting her chin in her hand. "Our house is kind of lonely, too. Mom and Dad are at work, so it's just Robbie and I at home now that we're on holidays. But Robbie likes to go out with his friends or read comic books in his room, so he isn't much company."

"Have you tried going out with your friends?" Isabel asks.

"They're all busy going away for summer vacation, or working, or they have a lot of family events on. You look tired," Becca notes, abruptly changing to subject the way she used to when she was younger.

Isabel laughs, then rubs at her eyes. "Uh, yeah. I haven't been sleeping well. And I've been working a lot."

"I haven't been sleeping well, either," Becca admits.

"Why not?"

"I've just been thinking of things. About Bucky. And about the war. We were learning all about it in school. The things the teachers say are happening, it really gets you thinking."

Isabel eyes her sister carefully for a moment, before making her decision. "You wanna sleep over tonight? We can call Mom and tell her you won't be home until tomorrow. It'll be fun. We can do each other's hair and makeup, and maybe do some dancing? I'll show you how to Lindy Hop."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Becca says sheepishly. "I wasn't really planning on going home."

* * *

"Ow! You pulled my hair!"

"Sorry," Isabel laughs, pulling the roller out a little more carefully from Becca's now set brown curls. The curled strands bounce when the roller is taken out of them, and Isabel puffs it with her hand into place, setting it with a bit of hairspray. "There, your hair's all done."

Becca opens her eyes from the hairspray blast, looking at her new hairstyle in the mirror. "Wow," she gushes, bouncing her curls and watching them spring back into place. "I look just like you."

"You wish," Isabel jokes. "Turn around in your chair."

Becca obeys, swivelling around to face her sister. Isabel carefully lines her lips with red lipstick, coats her eyelashes in mascara, and fills in the gaps in her brows. "There. Now you look more like me," she says, showing Becca her appearance in the mirror. She truly does look like Isabel. As Becca ages, the resemblance grows more and more. They have the same hair colour, eyes and eye shape, brow shape and nose, though Becca inherited Winifred's more rounded face shape. "Just beautiful," Isabel gushes, resting her chin on Becca's shoulder.

"Not as beautiful as you, Belle."

"Nonsense," Isabel berates. "Now that we're both all dolled up, I say it's time for a bit of dancing. Ma'am," she offers her hand to Becca and Becca takes it, allowing her sister to lead her back into the living room.

Isabel turns on the radio and they dance around the living room a while, Isabel teaching Becca a few dances for when she's older. They stumble through the steps, their feet stomping along the warm wooden floor along to the beat, flicking their skirts around as they bounce around on their toes. Isabel feels a lightness to herself she hasn't felt in a while as she lets her hair down, allowing herself to relax. Isabel finds herself smiling properly for maybe the first time since Bucky got his orders, watching Becca dance clumsily around the living room. The girl's childish optimism is refreshing, and it makes Isabel's heart clench with love and appreciation for her sister.

They retire to Isabel's bedroom once the sun sets outside and the world calms, the hour growing later. Becca changes into one of Isabel's spare nightgowns and climbs into Isabel's single bed, waiting for her sister. Isabel emerges from the bathroom, closing the bedroom door behind her. She goes and opens the window to let the cooler air circulate into the room, the rush of the traffic audible in the distance.

"You have to excuse my odd habits, but I sometimes sleep with this," Isabel says, getting the stuffed toy Bucky won her at Coney Island down from the top of her wardrobe. She carries it over to the bed pulls back the bed sheets. "Move over, Bec."

Becca shuffles over, leaving just enough room for Isabel, who clambers in under the sheet and lies her head on the pillow, smiling sleepily at Becca, who looks exhausted herself. "You gettin' tired, yet? We did a lot of dancin'," she asks the younger girl, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

"Nope," Becca says, though she's noticeably forcing herself to stay awake.

"You sure? You look pretty tired."

"Have you heard from Bucky yet?" Becca asks quietly, eyes wide as she stares at Isabel in the dim light of the room.

"No, not yet."

"Neither have we. Do you think he's okay?"

"Yeah, Bec. I'm sure he's fine. It takes a good nine days to get to England. He probably hasn't even reached his position in Europe yet. He's still safe."

"For now," Becca mutters.

"Bucky's strong, Becca. He'll be surrounded by men who are like brothers. They'll have each other's backs. He'll be okay. He's got his head screwed on, he's smart, he knows what to do. They've been trained for this."

"I know that," Becca says with a loud sigh. "It just doesn't make it any easier to see him go."

"I know it doesn't," Isabel reassures, putting an arm on Becca's shoulder. "I promise the second I get a letter from him, you'll be the first to know."

"Okay," Becca agrees. "You too."

Isabel nods. Becca nods. Then Becca rolls over, away from Isabel, and buries her head under the sheet. Isabel watches the back of Becca's head a while before falling asleep, her arms firmly wrapped around the oversized bear between them.


	24. Chapter 23

**23.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **June 29** **th** **, 1943**

Becca ends up staying for three days, making herself comfortable in the bed with Isabel and entertaining herself with Isabel's books during the day while Isabel goes at work. One of the days she tags along and sits in the nurses' break room the entire day, keeping the women entertained when they go on their breaks. Isabel only takes her home once on the second day so that Becca can get a few sets of clothes before coming back to stay.

Isabel's got a bit of money left over since her grocery list had been much shorter with two people missing from the household, so she has enough to treat Becca to a trip to the cinemas, takes her to an exhibit at one of the art museums in Manhattan, and buys her a hot dog from one of the food stalls in the park near their house.

George drives past on his way home from work to pick Becca up the day before Steve is scheduled to come home. Becca protests a bit, but piles obediently into the car when he reminds her that she may be on holidays, but she still has chores to do around the house and a mother and brother to spend time with as well.

Isabel waves goodbye, feeling reinvigorated after Becca's prolonged visit. The girl never fails to put a smile on her face. She goes to bed early that night after cleaning the entire apartment of dust so that Steve doesn't get sick when he comes back. She sleeps a lot better that night and not just because she actually has room on the bed and isn't falling off the entire night. Steve is coming home tomorrow, and she won't be alone anymore. The thought makes her sleep, since she knows the sooner she does, the sooner she'll be awake and the sooner he'll be home. She feels a little pathetic for the way she's acted, but before she can ponder it much, she falls asleep.

When Isabel wakes the next morning, the sun shining through the window onto her, she hurries to get ready for the day. She rushes around once more dusting off the surfaces. Nothing would be worse than Steve having an asthma attack his first minute back.

Then, she's just got to wait. She sits at the kitchen table for the rest of the early morning. Her toast sits in front of her, uneaten, her stomach not settled enough to actually eat anything. The clock on the wall seems to be teasing her, ticking slower with every minute that passes, the tick-tocking of the hands echoing through the room.

When she hears the knock at the door, she moves faster than she thinks she ever has in her life, opening the door so hard it slams into the wall before she can stop it. She smiles wide when she finds Steve on the other side, standing in the hall with his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Oh, thank God you're back," she cries, throwing herself into his arms, finding herself laughing with relief. Steve hurries to get his hands out of his pockets and practically catch her. She squeezes her eyes shut and hangs on, Steve's arms wrapping around her waist in return. When she opens her eyes, they widen when she sees a figure standing behind Steve, and she jumps away from him, embarrassed by her behaviour.

"It's okay Belle, I missed you too," Steve tells her quietly, smiling at her. Steve turns backward to the man behind him, the elderly gentleman in the suit from the night at the Expo. "This is Doctor Abraham Erskine. Doctor Erskine, this is my friend, Isabel Barnes."

Erskine raises an eyebrow at the world "friend". "Miss Barnes, it is a pleasure to finally meet you properly," Erskine says, shaking Isabel's hand and thankfully not saying anything about her red cheeks. "I believe I saw you at the World Expo some weeks ago, but we were never acquainted."

"Yes, you did. You were the one who gave Steve the chance?"

"I was indeed."

"Is there any possibility I can ask what that chance is? Or is it still classified?" Isabel asks Steve in a slightly joking manner, not actually expecting an answer.

"You may ask, but that does not mean I need to answer," Erskine replies with a smirk. "To answer you're intended question: Yes, I can partly explain the project to you, especially since I want you involved." Isabel's eyebrows climb on her forehead.

"Uh o-okay. Would you like to come in?" She asks, stepping aside in the doorway and letting Steve and Erskine inside. She closes the door behind her, locking it. "Make yourself comfortable," she tells Erskine, ushering him to the kitchen table. "Would you like a drink? Water, coffee, tea?"

"Tea would be perfect, Miss Barnes. Blonde and sweet, please," Erskine says politely, taking his glasses off to clean them on his shirt. Isabel nods, quickly making his drink and setting the steaming liquid before him.

She takes her usual seat, Steve between them. "Now, down to business," Erskine begins, taking a sip of his tea. "Lovely. Your friend, Steven, has been chosen for a project. It has been named Project Rebirth. It is a government and Army-issued project, and therefore it is burdened by secret. There are still limits to what I can and can't tell you, and there are even aspects that I don't know, so I trust you to make educated assumptions to fill in the gaps. At its most basic description, the project is designed to create the perfect soldier. It requires someone of pure mind; a goal-orientated, ambitious person with little evil within him. Do you follow?"

"I think so," Isabel says, though she looks thoroughly confused.

"It will all make sense in time," Erskine reassures, patting her hand. "For the duration of the procedure and the aftermath, I require the help of a registered nurse. I cannot tell you what you will be doing, but in the success of the project, you would be required to follow Steven to conduct regular follow up examinations of his physical and mental advancement. I assume that, since you are so close to Steven and his departure would see you here alone, you would be open to take the position. Correct me if I am wrong…"

Isabel's eyes flick to Steve's, looking for confirmation, who nods encouragingly but keeps his distance, not wanting to persuade her from her own opinions. "You aren't wrong," Isabel eventually decides. "I would like to be a part of the project. But what about my job at the hospital? And the apartment?"

"Don't worry about your job, I will take care of it. As for your apartment, it will be paid for by the United States Army, so long as you both continue your allegiance to the project." Erskine stands, taking his empty mug to the sink.

"The personality characteristics you spoke of, the pure mind, the ambition. They're the mental requirements. What will there be physical changes that you anticipate, if any?"

"I anticipate many physical changes. Increased stamina, strength, the works."

Isabel looks wide-eyed to Steve, then back to Erskine. "Have you any way to measure these changes?"

"We've already taken base measurements of Steven's current abilities at basic, as well as the effect of his extensive illnesses on his performance. Once the experiment has been successfully completed, we can measure the physical improvements. Mental changes are a little harder to track. We're hoping this is where you will also come in handy. Surely you will be able to identify an increase in a personality trait within your friend? I understand some are already quite noticeable."

"Yeah, they are," Isabel agrees, eyeing Steve with a raised eyebrow. "Steve's favourite hangout is behind the dumpster in an alleyway with a black eye."

"Wonderful. A man with spark and guts. I am liking Steven more and more," Erskine smiles. He straightens his jacket, eyeing the exit. "Well, unfortunately I must be off, I'm required for a meeting regarding tomorrow. That is also all I can tell you for now as I'm unsure if your apartment is bugged and the agents would have my head if I leaked classified information. Steven has been informed more thoroughly, though I trust you to not give out any hazardous information until the experiment is conducted," Erskine tells them apologetically. "If you are certain of your choice, a car will be here to collect you at seven sharp tomorrow morning. Ensure you are ready in time, and make sure you pack your vital belongings. There is a chance you may not be returning for a while."

Erskine sees himself out, closing the door behind himself. Isabel stays in the kitchen, staring at the door in shock. Steve immediately retreats to Bucky's room, dumping his dirty clothes on the bed and getting out more clean clothes, everything else he owns, putting it all back in the suitcase.

"What the hell is going on? That was just… what?" Isabel flounders, walking into the room having found her voice again. "Please explain what happened while you were away."

Steve agrees to explain immediately, knowing how confused and overwhelmed Isabel must be feeling. He feels a little that way himself. "At the camp, we all participated in a condensed version of a basic training. They weren't looking for the strongest or most strategic person. Erskine was looking for the person with the best heart, with ambition, someone who would make a good soldier and not be corrupted by outside forces, or by anything menacing on the inside. In short, they're looking for someone who can personally escort Hitler through the gates of hell. They want to make an army of the best soldiers, which will start with one man, one successful candidate. Me. If the procedure works." Steve chooses to leave out the part where he jumped on a grenade, not knowing it was only a dummy one. "I don't exactly know what the procedure is, but they said it will make me a soldier, but with many physical enhancements. A super-soldier."

"It makes you healthier? Stronger? Most likely more durable to injury. A perfect soldier." Isabel guesses.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," Steve shrugs. He walks into Bucky's room with his suitcase, unpacking it to repack it again later after doing some washing.

"You aren't in the least bit nervous or suspicious about this. An experiment or operation that you know almost nothing about? Physical changes to your body. Who knows what they'll pump you with."

"A little, yes, but I'm willing to try anything," Steve admits. "I trust Erskine. He's a good guy."

"It's very easy to pretend, Steve," Isabel reminds him warily. "Would Bucky approve of whatever it is we are going to do?" She asks, her tone accusing.

"Most likely not," Steve says honestly. He turns to face Isabel. "But do you trust me?"

Isabel doesn't hesitate. "Of course I do. I just feel like we're walking into the unknown. Everything is happening so fast. I–"

Isabel cuts off, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, Belle," Steve begins, stepping toward her.

"Don't! I'm fine!" She insists, stepping away from him and wiping roughly at her eyes. She diverts her attention away from Steve, her eyes falling on his suitcase, and huffs. "Your folding it terrible."

She takes everything clean out of Steve's suitcase and repacks it neatly, managing to fit another half of what Steve already had inside. She's busying herself as a distraction. Steve lets her, standing aside and passing her more things as they go. She pauses when Steve hands her his compass, the one he usually keeps in his bedside drawer for safe keeping.

"Your fathers'?" She asks, holding it gently in the palm of her hand, as if it were made from spider's silk. Steve nods. "Does it work?" Steve nods again.

Isabel sits on the bed, opens the compass, runs a finger over the glass. It's cool and sturdy in her hands, the gold metal smooth to the touch. She turns it, watching the needle zoom around back to point due North. She smiles sadly up at Steve, who stands over her. "You'll be careful, won't you? No matter what happens tomorrow, you won't do anything stupid."

Steve sits beside Isabel, the bed creaking under their combined weight. "I wouldn't dare not be. I'd never hear the end of it."

Isabel laughs, leaning her head on Steve's shoulder. "God, Bucky is going to kill you. And that'll be before my Mother has a piece of you."

"That sounds terrifying," Steve laughs.

"Speaking of, we should probably see my family tonight. Who knows when the next time will be."

* * *

The remaining Barnes family are quiet when Steve and Isabel deliver the vague news.

"What?" Winifred asks, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"No!" Becca cries, plopping herself onto the couch next to Isabel and crying into her shoulder.

"Bec, baby, it's okay," Isabel whispers to her, petting her hair. "I'll be okay." Becca just holds on tighter. She lets go with one arm, reaching across to grab Steve's hand in her own and squeeze it tight.

"We can't say anything else about it, it's confidential," Steve says apologetically. "But it's a chance to do some real good. This could change the tides of the war."

"They'll make you a soldier?" George asks Steve, scepticism lacing his voice. Steve doesn't even look offended.

"I know, it's hard to believe. I don't even know how they'll do it. But they're confident the experiment will be successful."

"And you're okay with this? Walking into the unknown?"

"It's a price I'm willing to pay, Mr. Barnes," Steve says stubbornly. "But no matter what happens to me, you don't need to worry about Isabel. She'll be safe."

"Why do you have to go Isabel? You aren't a soldier," Winifred pushes, clutching George's hand tightly.

"Nursing. The operation requires a full-time nurse. They figure since I know Steve personally, I'm the best candidate for the job. I can monitor the changes and compare it to how he used to be. I'll notice the differences, no matter how small. And I won't leave Steve's side, I promise," Isabel explains, her heart breaking at her family's own heartbreak. She doesn't truly want to leave, but she also doesn't want to stay. She's torn toward two separate poles. She feels like she's going to be ripped in half.

"I suppose that's fair," Winifred eventually decides, looking worriedly to George Barnes. George nods to her, accepting.

Steve and Isabel depart early in the night, requiring a good sleep for their long day starting the next morning. The hugs goodbye at the end of their visit are heartfelt. Becca refuses to let go of Isabel, taking the departure even harder than she'd taken Bucky's. She clutches hard to Isabel around her waist and cries into her shoulder, refusing to slacken her grip. Robbie eventually manages to pry her hands apart and guide her away, giving Isabel a hug of his own before taking his twin sister to the couch, sitting her down with an arm around her shoulders.

Winifred holds her daughter tight against her, a hand holding the back of her head. "Please, don't do this," Winifred whispers to her.

"I have to," Isabel tells her sadly, pulling away reluctantly from her mother's embrace. "I'll write you, I promise." Winifred nods, moving away from Isabel to stand beside the twins on the couch, putting her hand comfortingly on each of their shoulders.

George steps up to his daughter, smiling at her sadly. "I never imagined a day in which my daughter would be exposed to such cruelty, but here we are. I suppose the world has sunk that low." He pulls her into a hug, kisses her cheek, then holds her at arm's length. "Good luck, my child. You'll do great," George Barnes tells her sincerely, cupping his daughter's cheek.

"Bye, Dad," Isabel says through her tears, hugging her father's waist tight again. Winifred hugs her again from behind, the family enjoying their last moments together for the undetermined future.

When they pull away, Winifred turns to Steve, who's moved away to the corner of the room to give them all privacy. He's standing quietly with his hands in his pockets, looking away from the family's moment.

"Oh, come here, Steve," Winifred says, her eyes welling again as she pulls Steve into a hug. Steve hugs back, his eyes screwing shut against tears that threaten to overflow. "You're so brave, Steve. Braver than I ever gave you credit for. And I'll always regret that. You're a sweet boy, Steve. I'm so grateful to say you're like a son to me." Steve's eyebrows raise at that, and he smiles lovingly at Winifred, who pinches his cheek. "Promise me you'll protect my daughter," Winifred asks of him.

"You have my word, Fred," Steve promises, kissing her cheek goodbye.

* * *

Steve and Isabel are out the front of the apartment building at five minutes to seven, just as a sleek black car rolls up to the curb. A brunette, well-put together woman steps out of the backseat, dressed in the woman's version of the Army dress uniform, her lips stained a dangerous red.

"Steve, nice to see you again," Agent Carter greets, reaching out a hand for Steve to shake. "Is this your friend? The nurse?"

"Yes, this is Isabel Barnes. Belle, this is Agent Carter," Steve introduces the two.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Carter," Isabel says politely, shaking the woman's hand.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance," Agent Carter says with a smile, her British accent rather strong. "Alright, in you get. The driver will put your suitcases in the back."

Agent Carter walks back around the car, getting into the back seat. Steve opens the door, beckoning for Isabel to climb into the centre seat. Isabel nods no, signalling for Steve to sit between her and the agent. Steve doesn't argue, sensing her discomfort, and climbs smoothly in next to Agent Carter. Isabel slides in and closes the door, just as the car speeds off down the street.

"Have you always lived in Brooklyn?" Agent Carter asks them both, looking out at the passing buildings.

"Yes, born and bred. We have a lot of memories here," Steve answers.

"Yeah, like Steve got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner," Isabel says sarcastically, pointing out the areas. The sad thing is, she isn't lying.

Agent Carter looks at Isabel in search of a joking manner, but Isabel's face only betrays utter seriousness, and Steve's pinched expression confirms it. "Did you have something against running away?" Carter asks, bemused.

"You start running, they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. You can't say no forever, right."

"I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face," Carter thinks aloud. Isabel wonders what barriers such a successful woman would have overcome. She supposes she doesn't actually know Agent Carter, but she gets the vibe that she succeeds at anything and everything she attempts and doesn't let others stand in her way.

"I guess I just don't know why you would want to join the army," Steve asks. "You're a beautiful dame. Beautiful, oh a woman. I mean… An agent, not a Dame."

Beside Steve, Isabel rolls her eyes. "You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?" Agent Carter laughs.

"I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on," Steve jokes, smirking at Isabel.

"Yeah, because I don't count, right?" Isabel deadpans.

"You seem to have no trouble conversing with Miss Barnes," Carter notes in agreement.

"Well, we grew up together. Would be rather awkward if he stammered through every conversation with me over the last fourteen years," Isabel laughs.

Agent Carter nods at that, smiling with amusement. "But surely you've danced?" Agent Carter asks, seemingly stuck on the topic.

"I have, wasn't any good at it. Dancing with other women just seemed terrifying, and didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait."

"For what?" the brunette agent asks curiously.

"The right partner," Steve says, smiling down at his clasped hands in his lap. He smiles shyly at Isabel, but she's looking out the window, watching as the car stops before an antique store. Peggy notices Steve's glances, seemingly deducing the meaning behind his words.

They all get out of the car, and Agent Carter leads them inside the antique store. The elderly clerk stands when they enter. "Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?" She notes.

"Yes, but I always carry an umbrella," Agent Carter says robotically, then moves into an adjacent room.

They wait two seconds before the bookcase opens, revealing a secret passage. Isabel and Steve's jaws drop. They follow Agent Carter through the sterile metal hallway, and the brunette waves someone away from them. The trio emerge at the end of the hallway at a balcony, overlooking a circular room, a glass viewing box to their left and an odd-looking chamber sitting in the middle of the lower floor, surrounded by medical equipment and generators. There's people bustling around everywhere, moving equipment, handing over paperwork, putting on lab coats, holding cameras. Upon seeing Steve, all eyes in the room snap toward him.

Agent Carter looks around for a moment before descending the steps, heading for the familiar German doctor.

"Good morning," Doctor Erskine greets them all. The flash of a camera makes them all jump. "Please, not now," Erskine asks, sending the photographer away. "You ready?" Steve nods. "Good. Take off your shirt, your tie and your hat."

Steve does just that, handing them to a waiting attendant, who then leads him over to the chamber. Doctor Erskine stands beside Isabel, watching as Steve carefully climbs into the chamber, lying down.

"No offense, Miss Barnes. It's not that I doubt your nursing abilities, but think of today as a trial and introduction to your new career," Erskine tells Isabel, his accent thick.

"None taken," Isabel reassures. "Now that we're here, can I ask how this works?" Isabel asks, following Erskine to the desk containing his paperwork.

"Of course. Curiosity is the fuel for scientific breakthrough, my dear." He stops and faces Isabel. "Steven trained hard at basic, but due to his illnesses, he was not overly successful in the physical sense. He was often mocked, but his determination, quick thinking, and general "goodness" made him stand out from the crowd. And his self-sacrificing act of bravery was the tipping point, so to say."

"Self-sacrificing?" Isabel repeats with her brows raised, turning an icy glare toward the pale body lying down in the chamber.

"I believe I may have gotten young Steven in trouble," Erskine laughs. The German doctor puts a hand on Isabel's shoulder to steer her in the opposite direction, their backs to Steve in the chamber. "Steven has been chosen to receive a serum and dose of Vita-Rays, a process that I have invented. I cannot tell you the ingredients, but just know the vials of the compound are currently locked in that safe over there and the Vita-Ray dose will be absorbed through the chamber." Erskine points out the safe at the corner of the room. "The serum will not only enhance Steven physically, but also mentally. He will gain strength, stamina, an accelerated healing ability, among other things. But most notably, his mental strength will increase. He has a mind for tactics and strategy, and this will be excelled. He has no negative inner ambitions of power and obsession that will backfire. He only wants what is good for the world and for his own personal world."

"He'll be appreciative of the power he'll gain," Isabel deduces.

"Yes. He will most likely appear physically different upon emerging from the chamber. But you must remember, he will still be your Steven."

"I think it would take more than a serum and some radiation to change Steve, Doctor Erskine," Isabel tells him.

"I like that you recognise his stubbornness. It is almost a problem, is it not?" Erskine laughs.

"Oh, Doctor Erskine. That isn't Steve's only problem," Isabel laughs right back. "That boy is a concentrated ball of flaming fury."

Erskine bursts into laughter. "I like it. I'll be sure to get that as the caption on tomorrow morning's headlines." Erskine then grows more serious, aware of the time ticking away. "Now, here is what will happen." Erskine runs Isabel through the workings of the chamber, explaining its function and how she will help in getting it to work. She nods, taking it in, and repeats the process back to him confidently.

"You learn fast," he admires. "As for after the infusion, after the effects have taken place, I want you to monitor him. Take regular measurements of his vitals, strength, stamina, things like that. I want to analyse the effects over the long term to make sure they're permanent rather than temporary. But you must understand that the success of this project will see many more of its kind, under my leadership. We plan on making an Army. I won't have time to assess them all individually, naturally."

"Of course."

"So, this is where you come in. As someone who has known Steven for a vast majority of your life, I feel you are best suited to document the changes. I want to know the emotional, physical, psychological differences. How does the serum change him from what he is now, into what he will be? I also need to make sure it does not wear off. I trust you are up for the challenge."

"Yes, I am," Isabel tells him, though her voice lacks confidence, though not in her abilities. "Tell me the truth," Isabel begs of Erskine, lightly grabbing his arm when he turns away from her to approach Steve. "Will it work? Will Steve survive it?"

"Steven is a strong man. He may not look it from the outside, but he is," Doctor Erskine answers.

"I know. Everyone else overlooks it, but I can see it. Within him, I see it."

"Rest assured that he will be fine. He will survive because the fire inside him burns brighter than the fire around him," Erskine says proverbially, before turning away from Isabel again with a cheeky smile. "Be sure to change into your nurses uniform, Miss Barnes," he calls over his shoulder.

Isabel finds the uniform and hurries toward a small room in the corner to change. It's very similar to the uniform from the hospital, a plain white dress and a nurses cap that she pins into her hair.

Meanwhile, Erskine approaches Steve lying in the chamber, who shifts uncomfortably. "Comfortable?" He asks.

Steve laughs. "It's a little big. You save me any of that Schnapps?"

Doctor Erskine looks sheepish. "Not as much as I should have. Sorry. Next time," he admits. "Mr. Stark, how are your levels?"

Steve looks around worriedly, spotting Howard Stark walking toward them. He's reminded of the exploding flying car at the World Expo and shudders. "Levels are at one hundred percent."

"Good," Erskine says, turning away.

"We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready… As we'll ever be," Stark says, rather unsure of Steve's pale body in the chamber, before heading over to the control panel.

While Erskine sends Peggy up to the viewing booth out of the way, Isabel emerges in her uniform and approaches Steve.

"That was reassuring," Steve tells her. "I hope I don't turn out like his flying car."

"You won't, you'll be fine," Isabel reassures, grabbing hold of his hand, and holding it tightly. "You're a little less red than the car was anyway."

Steve manages a smile, but it doesn't hide the silent fear in his baby blues. "You know what you have to do?" Steve asks quietly.

"You don't need to worry about a thing. We've got it covered. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. Just try to relax, let Erskine and Stark do their thing," Isabel tells him. She looks around momentarily, looking for any peering eyes or looming cameras, then leans forward to kiss Steve's cheek. Steve doesn't like how it feels like a goodbye.

Erskine taps the microphone loudly, jolting everyone to attention.

"Can you hear me, is this on?" The men and women in the booth take their seats. "Ladies and gentleman. Today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step toward the path to peace."

At Erskine's nod, Isabel carefully lowers the chest clamps down onto Steve, careful not to hurt him. His expression is steely, hiding his fear. Then, she goes to a closed box, opening it to reveal six vials of an electric blue liquid. She removes them, carefully carrying them to the chamber and placing them in their slots, three on each side. Her movements are slow and emphasised, as requested by Erskine, so that those in the viewing box can follow her actions.

"We begin with a series of micro-injections into the subject's major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. Then, to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays."

Isabel preps Steve's arm with an alcohol swab for the injection, pricking the needle into his upper arm and squeezing out the penicillin. Steve's eyes screw shut and he breathes out a deep breath.

"That wasn't so bad," he says with relief after Isabel removes the syringe. Isabel stares at him.

"That was penicillin," Erskine tells him, steely. Steve looks utterly terrified. Erskine shrugs. "Serum infusion beginning in 5… 4… 3…"

Isabel takes a step away from the machine, watching as Steve's breath quickens, the slow countdown building the awful suspense. The arm pads release small needles, the pad moving on its own to settle over Steve's arm, making him clench his teeth. Isabel gulps, crossing her fingers behind her back in prayer.

"2…" Erskine puts a comforting arm under the bar on Steve's shoulder. "1."

Howard Stark flips a switch, the blue liquid suctioned from the vials through the pads and painfully through the needles into Steve's arms. His face creases in pain, and he lets out a grunt, clenching his teeth harder.

Isabel moves around to the front of Steve as the chamber lifts into a standing position, the doors closing shut and blocking out the view. Men plug large hoses into the top of the chamber whilst Erskine climbs up at step ladder to peer in to Steve through the glass window at the top.

"Steven, can you hear me?" Erskine asks, knocking on the metal of the chamber.

"Probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?" Steve's muffled voice jokes from inside. Erskine smiles as he turns, signalling for Stark to begin the infusion of Vita Rays. The percentage climbs, and so does the suspense, everyone waiting as Stark calls out the increasing number.

At seventy percent, they hear a pained, terrified scream emerge from the chamber, Steve clearly in distress and pain. The room grows extremely loud, everyone shouting all of a sudden.

"Oh no! No, no, no!" Isabel cries. Erskine jumps back up the step ladder, calling Steve's name into the glowing chamber. There's no response, only cries of pain.

At that moment, Agent Carter emerges from the booth. "Shut it down! Shut it down!" She demands, as Erskine continues to bang on the chamber, calling over Steve's screams.

"Erskine, help him," Isabel pleads.

"Turn it back, Mr. Stark. Turn it off, kill it, turn back," Erskine demands, but he's stopped by Steve's muffled pleas.

"No! Don't! I can do this!" Steve insists.

Everyone pauses, in shock, looking wide-eyed at the glowing chamber. Then they continue, Stark turning the dial further up until it hits one hundred percent. Steve doesn't scream anymore, and Isabel doesn't know if that's good or bad. The light coming from the chamber becomes unbearably bright and she has to look away, shielding her eyes with her hand and just mumbling for him to be okay, please be okay.

The control panel circuits out, and all the lights, before the light within the chamber goes out too. Everyone stares at the silent chamber, anticipating the worst. Isabel buries her face in her hand, peering out between her fingers. Her heart beats furiously in her chest, her head pounding.

"Mr. Stark!" Erskine calls.

When the chamber opens with a puff of smoke, it reveals Steve standing up inside, his head tilted backward as he breathes deeply, fighting for air. His expression is one of extreme pleasure, it's almost one that shouldn't be seen in a public environment. Steve's experiencing, for the first time in his life, the sudden absence of both recent extreme pain and long-term low level pain, something he's lived with his entire life. He's so high on endorphins that his expression is completely accurate. It's also the first time in his life he's been able to breathe without that tightening of his chest. His lungs actually work, the sweet air filling him until he's full. He finally feels whole.

Isabel's eyes widen, because she's staring at Steve, but it isn't Steve. He's a head taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier, with arms and a chest made of pure muscle. He looks healthy and fit and different, and Isabel is grateful and shocked and disturbed all at the same time. She also doesn't understand how the same pants still fit.

Everyone makes their way down from the lookout, crowding toward the pod. Erskine and Stark rush forward to help the muscly blonde out of the pod, supporting his weight with of each of Steve's massive arms over their shoulders.

"I did it," is the first thing Steve mutters, his breathing still laboured.

"Yeah, I think we did it," Stark agrees, looking admiringly and proudly at the new Steve.

Isabel pushes through the crowd of people around Steve to the front, facing him with widened eyes. "Belle," Steve says, his own eyes widening as he realises he has to look down to meet her eyes. He looks around in amazement, his eyes finally seeing colour in a way he'd never been able to before and actually seeing over everyone else's heads.

Isabel's eyes travel up and down Steve's body, then back to his face. The utter relief rushing through her that Steve is okay is also up against the fact that he's shirtless and now built like a Greek god. Before she can think about it, her hand reaches out to touch him, hug him, what she doesn't know. Her hand stops just shy of his chin like she'd been about to cup his cheek, but then she remembers about the cameras and the fact they weren't actually supposed to touch him and she pulls away. Steve doesn't seem to notice, too busy looking around.

Peggy appears next to Isabel, looking just as shocked. "How do you feel?" She asks when Isabel's voice fails her.

"Taller."

Peggy looks at Steve and reaches out a hand quickly as though to touch him, her fingers just brushing his chest before she quickly pulls it back. "Well, you look taller," Peggy informs him, still awestruck.

She quickly hands Steve a shirt and he shoves it on, pulling it down over his exposed torso. Isabel can't even find in herself to feel jealous that someone else is staring Steve down like that because she whole-heartedly agrees. Her and Peggy share a look and both nod at each other, Isabel managing to smirk.

Suddenly, the booth above the room explodes in a gush of hot fire, glass raining down on the crowd. Everyone ducks away from the shards and the fire, and Steve grabs Isabel and Peggy and pulls them down, instinctively shielding their bodies with his own. In the corner, a dark-haired man grabs the last remaining vial of the serum, pocketing it as he points a gun at the group and makes his way up the stairs to escape. He shoots at Doctor Erskine as the German tries to halt his escape, lodging two bullets in his chest and stomach. Steve gets up in time to see the doctor fall to his knees and races to him. He ducks at the sound of gunshots from Agent Carter's own pistol, but ignores it, leaning over the fallen doctor.

Doctor Erskine's breaths are shallow as he just clings to life. He manages enough energy to tap Steve's heart before his eyes close, his head turning to the side, lifeless. Isabel falls to the ground beside Steve, immediately putting her two fingers to Erskine's neck to feel for a pulse, finding none.

She looks to Steve helplessly, but Steve is glaring up at the hallway the man ran down, Agent Carter following after him. Steve suddenly takes off up the stairs, sprinting from the room to the road outside. They hear the distant sound of gunshots, and then silence.

Isabel takes control, enlisting the help of some of the men to move Erskine's body to a medical room. They lay him carefully on the bed.

Isabel rips off Erskine's shirt, finding one bullet lodged in his stomach and the second embedded only millimetres from his heart, the force of the metal stopping the muscle's rhythmic beat almost instantly. There's nothing she can do. The blood pools out of the wounds, turning Erskine's pale skin a deathly shade of red, dripping onto the white sheet below him. She grabs another white sheet from the pile on the bench and carefully lays it over the doctor's still body, hiding him from view.

The door opens behind her as she drapes the sheet and an older man walks in, wearing an Army dress uniform. He stops beside Isabel, who takes a moment to gently closes Erskine's eyes with her fingers.

"He's gone?" The man asks in a deep, gruff voice. Isabel has no idea who he is. She only nods. The man stays beside her, and they both looking down sadly at the lifeless face of Abraham Erskine before Isabel covers him entirely with the bloodstained sheet.


	25. Chapter 24

**24.**

 **Brooklyn, New York City**

 **June 30** **th** **, 1943**

When Steve and Agent Carter return from chasing down the infiltrating Hydra assassin, Steve isn't even puffed. He walks in silence, astounded by his own stamina and strength. Agent Carter walks him through the halls, looking dishevelled from Steve tackling her out of the way of the looming car, her once perfect hair in a mess upon her head. She directs him to a private medical room of his own, telling him to wait on the bed while she finds Isabel, who she'll send in.

Steve waits patiently, looking at his own arms and hands in awe of their size and strength. He turns them over, wondering whether these stronger, more masculine hands will still be capable of producing his art. The permanent bumps from the pencil are gone from the insides of his fingers, and he doesn't quite know how to feel about that. Not to mention his torso. He holds his own abs and chest, runs a hand over them, amazed at their solidity and density. He grabs two handfuls of his own pecks, holding them in his hands and squeezing a bit, just experimental, frowning. Then, he grabs a handful of his own thigh, feeling pure muscle in his grip, and his eyes widen at their power. Never in his life did he imagine he'd own a body like this one.

After a few minutes the door opens and Isabel slips inside. Steve hurriedly lets go of his own jaw, which he'd been feeling and running his hands along, looking sheepish. Isabel looks both terrified and relieved at once, warily coming closer to Steve, taking small steps.

"Stevie. You're okay?"

"I'm fine," Steve reassures. "I'm good."

"What happened?" She asks quietly. "What happened to that man? Who was he?"

"He was a German spy. I chased him all the way to the docks. He stole a taxi but I ran after him on foot. He tried to escape in a submarine but I jumped in and pulled him out. Before I could question him, he bit this thing inside his tooth and he died. Peggy said it's called a cyanide pill."

"And the vial of the serum?"

"It smashed, it's gone," Steve says.

"Good. Would have been disastrous if it had fallen into the wrong hands."

Steve looks sadly at Isabel, who still stands a few feet from him, her eyes warily watching him as though she doesn't know him. "Belle, are you scared of me?"

"No, of course not," Isabel says hurriedly. She takes another step toward him, slowly getting closer. "It's just a lot to process."

"I know," Steve says, looking down at his own hands again. "I don't even know how this all works, but it's incredible. I could run as fast as a car, and I could swim without getting asthma, and I can see clearly further than a few meters. I–" Steve breaks off, unable to find the words.

Isabel nods. "Erskine said you would improve physically. You'd gain stamina, speed, sight, reflexivity, flexibility, strength. And that's just the physical. Do you feel different?"

"I feel… healthy. I feel like I can breathe without a crushing weight on my chest. I don't feel tired. I don't feel frail. I feel like a new person, but I'm still me. It's like I switched bodies with someone but I still look the same," Steve says in wonder.

"Good," Isabel says sincerely, coming slightly closer until her legs hit the bed. Her eyes well with tears and she sniffs. Steve notices her eyes are already red and a bit puffy; she must have been crying before, too. "I was so scared, Steve. When you were screaming in the chamber. I couldn't do anything. I felt so helpless."

"I know, I'm sorry. I tried to hold in my screams, but it felt like I was being ripped in half. For a while there I thought I was dying, that the last thing I was seeing was this overwhelming bright light. And then the chamber opened, and I was okay. I wasn't dead. Took me a second to process that. I'm so sorry," Steve whispers. He slowly reaches an arm out to grab her waist and easily pulls her toward him, but he isn't used to this new strength and he pulls her a little too hard because she practically flies into his chest with a muffled _oof._ "Oops, sorry. This will take a while to get used to," he apologises, slightly releasing his tight grip.

"It's okay," she laughs. She doesn't hesitate now to wrap her arms tightly around his now very broad shoulders. Now that she's in his arms, she realises he still feels the same, even though he also feels different. He still elicits feelings of comfort and safety and love, and he still even smells like Steve. She lets her chin rest on his shoulder for a moment, just enjoying being with him since for a few eternal moments when he was in the chamber she thought she'd never see him again alive.

She pulls away at some point, reluctantly, and just stares at him. He still looks like Steve – he has his eyes and eyebrows and lips and even the horrible bump in his nose that Danny put there all those months ago. His head is just bigger, his jaw more defined and his chin slightly more prominent. He looks older, but still young, which is easily because in comparison to now he used to look like a pre-teen with the voice of a twenty-five-year-old.

"You have no idea how glad I am that your nose is still the same," she finds herself saying, laughing to herself.

"Oh, great. That was the one thing I was hoping the serum would fix," Steve jokes.

"No, I love it," she argues. To punctuate, she bops his nose. "I have to take blood samples," Isabel tells him, remembering the fact that this is her new job, her new reality. Steve nods, presenting his arm, and Isabel gets to work, taking ten full vials as Stark asked. Steve doesn't even wince when she inserts the needle.

A few minutes later, Agent Carter walks into the room, finding Steve with his shirt sleeve rolled up so Isabel can take vials of his blood.

"Think you got enough?" Steve jokes after a while, watching his blood leave his body.

Isabel looks up and smiles at him. "Watch your cheek or I might decide I need another batch."

Peggy walks closer to them. "Now that the remains of the serum have been destroyed, any hope of reproducing the program is locked in your genetic code. Without Erskine, it will take years to re-unlock it, but Howard Stark isn't going to give up," Peggy says.

"He deserved more than this," Steve notes of Erskine.

"If it could only work once, he'd be proud it was you. I think we can safely say you were his greatest success," Peggy tells Steve. He smiles at her thankfully, but the doubt in his eyes is still present.

They emerge from the medical room together, Isabel carrying the vials of Steve's blood in a clear plastic box. Amidst the glass shards and the blown control panels of the open experiment room stands Howard Stark, Colonel Phillips, and Senator Brandt, all of them positioned around the Hydra submarine that was extracted from the water, having sunk after Steve smashed in its window. Agent Carter joins them while Isabel hands the blood vials over to Stark, who thanks her with a dazzling smile.

"Colonel Phillips, my committee is demanding answers," Senator Brandt addresses the gruff old man who'd spoken to Isabel earlier, finally putting a name to the face.

"Great, why don't we start with how a German spy got a ride to my secret installation in your car?" Phillips asks Brandt gruffly. "What do we got here?" He asks, pointing to the sub.

"Speaking modestly, I'm the best mechanical engineer in this country," Stark tells them, winking at Isabel and Peggy and making Phillips roll his eyes. "But I don't know what's inside this thing, or how it works. We're not even close to this kind of technology."

"Then who is?"

"Hydra. I'm sure you've been reading our briefing," Phillips says.

"I'm on a number of committees, Colonel," Brandt reminds him.

"Hydra is the Nazi deep science division. It's led by Johann Schmidt. But he has much bigger ambitions," Agent Carter explains patiently.

"Hydra's practically a cult," Phillips adds. "They worship Schmidt, they think he's invincible."

Isabel and Steve share a confused look, not entirely sure if they were meant to hear this conversation. But once they'd begun discussions, no one seemed to notice their presence in the room.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Brandt asks.

"I spoke to the president this morning. As of today, the SSR is being re-tasked. We are taking the fight to Hydra. Pack your bags, Agent Carter. You too, Stark. You're flying to London tonight."

"Sir, if you're going after Schmidt, I want in," Steve says determinedly. Isabel gives him a look trying to silence him.

"You're an experiment. You're going to Alamogordo," Phillips tells him.

"But the serum worked."

"I asked for an army and all I got was you. You are not enough." Isabel feels her blood boil when Steve noticeably deflates. She is about to give Phillips a piece of her mind when Senator Brandt interrupts, stepping closer to Steve with a sympathetic expression.

"With all due respect to the Colonel, I think we may be missing the point. I've seen you in action, Steve. More importantly, the country's seen it." Brandt's aid hands him a newspaper, which he shows to Steve and Isabel. It headlines, _"Nazis in New York – mystery man saves child"_. "The enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands. You don't take a soldier, a symbol like that, and hide him in a lab. Son, do you want to serve your country on the most important battlefield of the war?"

Isabel gets a bad vibe from Senator Brandt, that he's saying just the right things to mould Steve the way he wants him. "Sir, that's all I want," Steve replies, looking hopeful despite Brandt's clear ability to market an idea.

"Then congratulations. You just got promoted."

* * *

 **Manhattan, New York City**

 **July 2nd** **, 1943**

Steve stands in his change room backstage, shuffling his arms and legs around in the costume. He looks absolutely ridiculous, standing in front of the full-view mirror in a navy blue, red and white skintight ensemble that leaves nothing to the imagination, red boots and a cloth cowl with wings on it to wear over his face.

He feels pretty regretful right about now about his choice to take up Brandt's offer. In fact, he'd felt regret as soon as Brandt had showed Steve a concept drawing of "Captain America", the star-spangled American hero they'd created with his face and body to promote war bonds and American participation in the war. They've got a whole show planned out for him to perform across the nation, with female dancers in skimpy spangled costumes, fireworks, patriotic music and even a fake Adolf Hitler for him to "knockout". It's way over the top and Steve knows it, so he's dreading his first performance on the stage.

Unfortunately, he also remembers that Brandt had said something off-handedly about a comic book series. He groans and puts his head in his hands. This was not how he imagined he'd be serving his country.

The door to his dressing room opens slowly and Isabel peers around. She smiles when she sees him, visibly holding in her laughter.

"Laugh all you want. I know it's terrible," Steve tells her, looking away back to the mirror.

Isabel walks up behind him, peering around his shoulder. "It really isn't that bad," she says truthfully. "It suits you." She reaches up and properly zips the costume up at his neck where he'd missed, brushing down the back of any fluff. "You nervous?"

"Embarrassed more so, but yes, still nervous," he replies, sighing heavily.

"Steve, you'll be great," Isabel says sincerely, coming around to face him. "Just remember why you're doing this."

"This really isn't what I imagined."

"I know, but it's a starting step forward in the right direction," she argues. "Here, I wrote out your lines for you so you could stick them on the inside of your shield to read off of," she tells him, pulling a folded-up piece of paper from the pocket of her dress.

"I didn't even think of that," Steve admits.

"That's why I'm the smart one in this friendship. As soon as you get on stage in front of all those people, you'll forget your lines. I know I would, I don't envy you going out there. The first few times will be tough, but you'll get the hang of it," she promises, sticking the paper to the inside of the shield with some costume tape.

"I wish you could go out there with me," he admits, looking visibly nervous.

"Yeah, well, I'm not an up and coming national icon. I doubt they'd want me anyway."

Brandt's aid appears at the door then, ushering Steve out for his cue. Isabel follows, planning to watch the show from the side of the stage.

Steve peeks out the curtains at the side, seeing the half-full auditorium outside, mainly parents with their younger children. "I don't know if I can do this," Steve admits, turning nervously to Brandt's aid.

"Nothing to it," the aid says casually. "Sell off a few bonds, bonds buy bullets, bullets kill Nazis. Bing bang boom. You're an American hero."

"It's just not how I picture getting there."

"The senator's got a lot of pull up on the hill. You play ball with us, you'll be leading your own platoon in no time. Don't forget the shield and the mask."

"Good luck!" Isabel calls as Steve pulls up his cowl and is pushed through the curtain onto the stage, the music starting up immediately.

" _Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way?"_

"Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank. But there's still a way all of us can fight," Steve reads in a stammering voice as the women sing and dance in the background.

" _Who vows to fight like a man, for what's right, night and day?"_

"Series E Defence Bonds. Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."

" _Who will campaign door-to-door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane, the star-spangled man with a plan._ _We can't ignore there's a threat and a war we must win."_

"Each one you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun."

" _Who'll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin? Who will redeem, heed the call for America? Who'll rise or fall, give his all for America? Who's here to prove that we can? The star-spangled man with a plan."_

"We all know this is about trying to win the war. We can't do that without bullets and bandages, tanks and tents. That's where you come in. Every bond you buy will help protect someone you love." Behind Steve, a man dressed as Hitler sneaks behind the line of women toward him. Children in the audience yell for Captain America to turn around. **"** Keep our boys armed and ready, and the Germans will think twice about trying to get the drop on us." Just as Hitler reaches Steve, he turns around and fake-punches him, knocking him backward into the curtains to the roar of the crowd.

" _Stalwart and steady and true, forceful and ready to defend, the red, white, and blue. Who'll give the Axis the sack and is smart as a fox? Far as an eagle will soar. Who's making Adolf afraid to step out of his box? He knows what we're fighting for. Who waked the giant that napped in America? We know it's no one but Captain America. Who'll finish what they began? Who'll kick the Krauts to Japan? The star-spangled man with a plan!"_

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you everyone for the follows, favourites and lovely reviews! I appreciate every one of you more than words can say! Please continue to review so I know how you're liking the story so far. Enjoy the chapter! :)


	26. Chapter 25

A/N: This chapter marks 100,000 words! Thanks to everyone who has been along for the ride, commented, followed and favourited! I appreciate you all endlessly, keep the reviews coming :)

Just a warning, this chapter contains scenes of torture, brainwashing and violence.

* * *

 **25.**

 **Azzano, Italy**

 **June 12** **th** **, 1943**

On the battlefields of Azzano, Bucky begins to think his time is up. Bullets fly through the air around him, the clunking of machine guns filling the air, and fire rages across the grass and fallen objects as he sprints across the field, rifle at the ready. He runs in a group, some of the remaining one-oh-seventh, Timothy Dugan at his right.

A landmine explodes just as he passes it, triggered by the man running on his other side, and he only narrowly misses the impact. The man who triggered it runs onward, only jolted by the blast, but it hits the fella running behind him and the man goes down in a heap, screaming aloud for a leg that was once there. Bucky doesn't stop to look.

He runs at full sprint, throwing himself into a small crater of foxholes dug out by the men who'd been trying to hold the line. He fixes his helmet, sitting with his back to the short wall and clutches his rifle. Dugan lands next to him, rather ungraciously, having thrown himself head first into the crater to avoid a slew of bullets.

"There's gotta be at least five more companies out there somewhere," Dugan tells him with a pained expression, slowly sitting up.

"We need B-company, tell 'em we need cover," Bucky yells back, mostly to Gabe Jones, who lands in the small trench with his leather bag, containing a radio.

"That might be tough," Jones answers, trying to pull the radio free whilst still aiming his rifle.

"Bucky! Behind you!" Dugan warns, throwing himself beside Bucky and shooting with his Thompson sub-machine gun at the advancing Germans. Bucky turns too, shooting his own, when an explosion rocks the trench, sending them all tumbling and Dugan's bowler hat from his head.

Bucky recovers first, his heart racing and his ears pounding in his head, and looks over just in time to see a fresh wave of the enemy advancing toward them down the hill. "Here they come!" He yells, setting himself up to face them, Dugan and Jones following. He squints through the eyepiece, barely able to make out the advancing bodies in the darkness. He lines it up anyway and shoots, not expecting a kill shot, quickly picking off a large chunk of the mass. Suddenly, the next person he'd locked onto is engulfed in a spark of blue light, disintegrating into thin air in front of his eyes. Bucky looks up from his rifle, staring in shock into the distance as more soldiers disappear in a flash. The lightning-like flashes come from odd-looking guns of a new player to the field, men dressed in all black with heavy metal helmets hiding their faces.

When all of the approaching men are dead, gone from the face of the earth, the one-oh-seventh lowers their guns, thinking backup has arrived sporting some fancy new weaponry. The field falls eerily silent, all sounds of explosions and machine guns petering out with the last body to disappear. The men of the one-oh-seventh start cheering, thinking they've won the battle, but Bucky is still suspicious, looking around the field carefully.

"What the hell was that?" Dugan asks as they carefully stand from the trench, climbing out of it onto the grass. The explosions continue on the horizon, this time in larger blasts of energy, coming over the hill toward them. Something makes the ground rumble beneath them, and Bucky looks up carefully, raising his rifle again. "That looks… new," Dugan mutters, watching as the biggest tank any of them have ever seen climbs over the crest of the hill, massive floodlights lighting up the dark terrain. They watch as it's gun aims toward the group, the tank rumbling as if summoning up the energy.

"Duck!" Bucky yells, diving back into the trench just as the bright blue blast flies over their heads, hitting the far edge of the trench, crumbling the dirt. The tank rolls closer to them, shooting at all sides of the trench rapidly to keep the soldier's trapped inside, but never actually hitting them.

The battle is hopeless. They're outgunned with no reinforcements on the way. Bucky sees Isabel in his mind, sees her mouth moving in the form of the six words, but he can't hear them. Six words. All he needs is six words. He'd repeated them back to Isabel that day, sounded out every syllable. And now he can't remember them.

They all huddle together in the middle, wide-eyed, trying to string together. The tank looms over them, a massive monster of metal, and the barrel of the gun points right at them, only meters from their faces. Bucky thinks and thinks and the words don't come to him. _Prisoner of war_ , he thinks. Then another six words, but not the six words he needs. _What are they gonna tell everyone?_

Multiple men in their black uniforms climb from the massive construction, coming down into the trenches and wrestling the men from the ground, pointing guns at their heads. They're normal bullet guns, not whatever their other agents had used, and Bucky makes his move. When a soldier approaches him, he attacks, firing his own gun at all of the men, taking down three or four. The others of the one-oh-seventh do the same, fighting them off, but they're quickly taken down, pinned to the ground with guns pressed into their temples and under their chins. Bucky hesitates, and its long enough for another soldier behind him to shoot at him, the bullet embedding itself in the back of his knee. He feels the movement of his skin and muscles and ligaments and the blood bursting out before he feels the pain. It hits him like a tidal wave, making him scream and fall to the ground, clutching the joint with both shaking hands. He can't breathe, taking deep, gasping breath, the pain filling his mind so he can't think of anything else.

He vaguely feels someone grab his arm and drag him out of the trench. His mind fades, the pain taking over. He lets his eyes close, hoping unconsciousness will take him somewhere far away.

Still, he can't remember the words.

* * *

When Bucky opens his eyes, he immediately registers the immense pain in his left leg. It burns like it's on fire, as well as feeling like he's being stabbed repeatedly.

"Thank God," multiple men around Bucky say, a face appearing over him. A large hand falls on his shoulder.

"Where ar'we?" Bucky slurs, trying to sit up. The hand moves from his shoulder to his back, helping to push his weak body up. There's a bunch of faces around that slowly comes into focus, revealing themselves to be the one-oh-seventh.

"Captured," Dugan answers from next to him, still supporting Bucky's weight. "They wanted to take you away but we fought to keep you here. Wouldn't let go of you."

Bucky looks around. They're sitting in a round cell, another cell to each side of them, stretching up and down the hallway. Above them a platform where guards pace back and forth, monitoring the prisoners below. The ground is damp and mouldy, a strong smell of piss and sweat finding Bucky's nose, though it's no different than the smell of the trenches.

"What happened with my leg?" Bucky asks worriedly, sitting up to examine it. It doesn't look good, leaking blood and pus through the bandages, swollen up to double its usual size.

"They gave us a sickly medical kit and I tried to patch it up. Removing the bullet was the easy part. But the knee's beyond saving in this setting, you need immediate surgery," Morita says sympathetically. "Even if I was a surgeon, which I'm not, I couldn't do it with this." He holds up the medical kit, a small canvas pouch with some bandages, one scalpel and one alcoholic swab.

Bucky nods, sitting back with his head against the bars. "Thanks."

"Just wish I could do more, Serge."

"The boys from basic? Lore, Robinson, Crawley? What happened to 'em?"

They were the only three left from basic training that Bucky was friends with; the others had all lost their lives in the trenches within their first few weeks in the field. Bilge had earned a gunshot to the head when he wore his helmet a little too high, Fairview had gotten an infection from a shallow bullet wound, and Andrews had run himself into No-Man's Land, screaming that he needed to get out. They'd shot him to bits and he'd been left to rot amongst the barbed wire.

"They're gone, Serge. They came and took Robinson away last night, and Crawley and Lore got hit back at Azzano. I'm sorry, I know you were friends," Morita tells Bucky.

"Yeah, I guess we were," Bucky says quietly. He looks around, trying to distract him from the physical pain radiating up his leg and the pain in his heart at the death of his brothers in arms. It's not like it's new anyway, he's seen hundreds die around him so far. Difference is, normally he only knew their name, not anything else about them. They were a name and a serial number, not a person, not a friend. "What do they got us doing here? Just waiting around?" Bucky grits out, watching through the top as the silhouette of an armed guard walks over them.

"They got us building weapons and some sort of massive plane," Jones answers. "Called it the Valkyrie. They're sending the parts we build to another base."

"How do you know?" Bucky asks.

"We've been here three days already. They worked us from the first minute we were here," Jones replies.

"You've been out the whole time, Serge. Didn't think you were ever gonna wake up," Morita says.

"Three days?" Bucky breathes. "Has anyone tried to get out? Has anyone gone looking?"

"A few. It didn't take us long to get here, so assuming the line has stayed put, it can't be more than a couple days' march. All of 'em that left here, none of 'em ever came back," Dugan says solemnly, removing his bowler hat in respect. "They were damn stupid, but they were brave."

* * *

The next day, Bucky isn't dismissed from the labour work they're being forced to do. The Krauts drag him up from the floor of the cell and make him follow in line with the other men toward the factory floor. The one-oh-seventh gather around him, covering him on each side so that their captors can't reach him. Bucky limps along with them, his knee screaming at him, but he pushes through with gritted teeth, leaning rather heavily against Dugan when he nearly falls to the ground.

The other prisoners are all scared, but mostly they're offended. Offended by what they're being made to do. There are unspoken rules of how prisoners of war are to be treated, and they definitely don't include making them work labour in return for their evening meal.

For days, Bucky pushes through the pain, lifting parts and screwing things together, feeling himself weaken further and further. He never relaxes, can't breathe, knows he can't slip up. The goons bark German at them, revealing themselves to be part of some science division called Hydra, and Bucky finds himself surprised that they'd break away from their own side. When they bark German at them, the prisoners pretend not to catch their drift, but they learnt some German in the trenches and they're never going to forget it. When the guards come to snatch volunteers, the others fade Bucky into the crowd, hiding him from view.

Whatever weapons they have them building, they're scary as hell. The guns are big and clunky, and they have cartridges to be filled with the blue energy that disintegrated people. The canons are powerful, the tanks even more so, and when they put Bucky on duty of building the engine, Bucky can't even imagine the size of the plane that it would propel. Bucky works because he needs to eat, and he needs to eat to keep his strength up so his body can heal, but every day that passes, he thinks he's further from healing, not closer.

At night back in their cells, Bucky goes through the motions of thanking God that the Army never took Steve and never would. He doesn't sleep when everyone else does, the pain keeping him awake and his mind always actively listening for the approaching guards who take away a prisoner or two each night and never bring them back again.

After a few unbearable, eternal days, Bucky is carrying a small metal part across the factory floor. He feels his mind fog, clouding his thoughts and his vision. His leg screams at him, the pain unbearable, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. He sways and stumbles, falling forward when his legs finally give way beneath him. Dugan just manages to catch his head before it hits the concrete, and seconds later, guards come to take Bucky from the floor. Dugan and the others fight them, even managing to knock out a few, but ultimately, the guards draw a few guns and the one-oh-seventh have no choice but to let them take Bucky away, shedding a few silent tears at the thought of never seeing the kid again.

* * *

Bucky wakes up again, this time on a cold metal table. Above him is a large laser gun, pointed worryingly toward his head. He blinks slowly, the world spinning a little, his mouth gagged, his entire body feeling numb. He doesn't feel the pain in his leg anymore or the ache of overworked muscles. He feels nothing. Maybe he's dead. Maybe he died of sepsis, maybe he's just waiting to be let into Heaven or the World to Come or whatever. Would that be so bad, anyway? Would he really care if he was dead? Not if he was destined for a life in the wastelands of war.

A little man in a suit emerges from the glass-walled room to Bucky's right. Bucky gets a peek through the door, seeing lots of desks cluttered with papers and a map of Europe on the wall.

The man looks over Bucky, his eyes hidden behind small, round glasses perched on his snub nose. He's short, wearing a suit and lab coat.

"Am I dead?" Bucky asks, the only words he's decided to give them.

"No, Sergeant Barnes. Not yet," the man says in accented English. He grabs Bucky's jaw with small and clammy fingers, eyeing him carefully and examining his physique. Bucky squirms, tries to wrench away from the hand. "Hold still," Doctor Zola snaps. Bucky mumbles something against the gag, though no words come out, and he twists his wrists in their bonds, glaring at the scientist.

"This one will do," Zola eventually says to another man who emerges behind him, wearing the Hydra uniform without a helmet. He has a head of black hair and dark eyes that glare at Bucky with a sneer.

"I hope the serum is not ready yet," the man grumbles. "He needs to be taught a lesson for what he did when we first found them."

"Why? Because he was the first to fight against our soldiers once his unit was captured? Or because he has the strength to continue working even with a severely damaged knee? The ability to hide in a crowd? I think he is just what I am looking for. He could be anybody. He's special." Zola looks back to Bucky. "You like this, Sergeant Barnes? Hearing that you're special, that you've been chosen?"

Bucky doesn't answer, instead forcing himself to start breathing again. He's already given them the words he shouldn't have, asking if he was dead. He's already broken protocol, broken his training. Name, rank, serial number, he reminds himself. A chill lingers on his face when Zola lets go of his jaw.

"Start the infusion. I have the feeling our time will not be wasted on this one."

A needle is injected into Bucky's inner-elbow, connected to a bag of thick, grey fluid. The fluid swims its way lazily down the tube, toward Bucky's arm, and Bucky feels his breathing quicken. It enters the needle, and then Bucky's blood stream, bubbling into a lump at first before slowly spreading through his body. It's like fire in his veins, a burning in his muscles and bones, and he swears he's being melted down into a puddle. The pain isn't numbing or changing, it feels like poison, searing at his every cell. He prays to go to sleep, to be knocked out, even to die, the pain is so horrendous. It's bad enough that he can't even scream, only panting for breath against the gag while Zola takes notes.

He vaguely remembers being sat upright, sometime later. It could've been days later, could've been minutes. He doesn't think he lost consciousness, but time just seemed to muddle together. His leg doesn't hurt as he walks across the floor, doesn't even twinge, and he wonders whether it healed, or whether he lost it altogether.

They shove his head into a bucket of water, holding him down as he thrashes to see how long he can hold his breath for. He lasts longer than he thinks he probably should, taking minutes to wildly thrash. After an eternity under the clear water, the man legs go of his head, allowing him to break the surface of the water and cough and splutter, gasping for air. His teeth chatter violently in his mouth, and he thinks they may even crack from the pressure. Zola watches on, taking notes, waiting for Bucky's breathing to return to normal. "Again," he eventually mutters, and the guard forces Bucky's head down.

"No–" Bucky tries, but he's plunged into the freezing water again, the grip of the guard's gloved hand digging painfully into his scalp.

When he's not being drowned, he's back on the table, continually waiting. They never give him any food or water, seeing how long he can survive without it. They give in at the very last second, before he passes out from dehydration with chapped, crusty lips and skin that's dried out, his voice horse. They allow him one canteen worth of water, and the aid gives him the entire bottle like a helpless baby gets fed its morning milk, before he walks away with it, not bothering to refill it.

They don't give him any food though, and Bucky's stomach grumbles and churns painfully for what he guesses is a few days. He eventually passes the stages of hunger and instead feels empty, like a weight is missing from inside him.

Zola emerges one day with a small scalpel and a kidney tub with some swabs in it. He draws up the sleeve of Bucky's knitted jumper, revealing the patch of pale skin on Bucky's forearm. He says nothing as he slices from one end to the other, from the inside of his wrist to the crease of his elbow, a shallow cut that elicits a grunt of pain from Bucky. Zola watches with calculating eyes as blood drips down over Bucky's hand onto the floor below, a quiet dripping sound. Quickly the blood stops, congealing along the cut, and within minutes, a scab forms over it, peeling off within ten minutes to leave a faint red scar in its place. It increasingly pales as the minutes continue to pass until it's the faintest of white lines along Bucky's forearm.

Intrigued by Bucky's apparent healing ability, Zola tries again, making longer and deeper cuts all over Bucky's body and testing the healing time. Bucky screams and kicks and wriggles as Zola stabs him over and over, the knife cutting through his skin and muscle like he's nothing but a hunk of meat for Christmas dinner, leaving a zig zag mosaic of pale silver scars as a permanent reminder of the torture. All the while, Zola smiles.

They start getting him up again after a while, though not for long. The aid drags him up and pulls him to a chair in the corner, the metal gleaming in the dim light. Bucky runs out of energy to fight back. He visits the chair repeatedly, the metal cold against his roughened back and arms, and waits every time for the painful jolt, the volts of electricity that spread through his body and mind. Zola always asks him after when the pain is over and he's left with a throbbing headache, what his name is. He doesn't know why it matters, if maybe the chair isn't only supposed to electrocute him but do something else entirely, but he knows he doesn't want to visit it again. He still feels the pain in his temples just looking at it, and there's still faint purple bruises on each side of his face from the last time where it had burned him.

It's a routine he grows used to, but it doesn't get any easier. His heart races as they sit him down and strap his arms to the armrests tightly, almost cutting off the blood flow. When Zola leans down to strap his legs, he tries to kick out, but the weakness of his legs sees him miss his target, instead kicking at thin air.

"Don't fight it, Sergeant Barnes," Zola warns him, lowering the pads that sit on his temples. He holds a mouth guard up to Bucky's mouth, forcing it between Bucky's teeth when he makes no attempt to open his mouth and take it.

The chair makes a whirring sound, and within seconds, a painful bolt shoots through Bucky's temples and reverberates in the very bone of his skull, attacking at his brain and meddling his thoughts. He screams, his eyes widening, clutching the armrests in the palm of his hands hard enough to bend the metal. The pain is ruthless, inhumane, like nothing Bucky ever imagined.

And then it's over within seconds, the pads squeezing on his skull before releasing. Bucky gasps for breath, his head pounding and his heart beating rapidly in his chest, threatening to burst out of him and fall into his lap.

Zola kneels down in front of him, looking up at his project with a sick sort of pride. "What is your name, soldier?" Zola asks quietly, notepad in hand.

Bucky frowns when his brain doesn't seem to comply straight away. He only hesitates for a second, his name dangling on the edge of his tongue. He snatches the memory, figuratively, forcing himself not to let it go, not to forget it. "James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038," Bucky grits out.

Zola still smiles, knowing his prototype machinery is finally showing results. Bucky won't give them anything other than his credentials, but after the American Sergeant's fifth time in the chair, he's starting to doubt his memory, simple information slipping from his mind. Zola nods and stands, scribbling in his notebook, letting his aid unclip Bucky from the chair and all but drag his limp body back to the table.

They leave Bucky in the room all night, alone in the dark, the only sound being the vicious thunder and lightning and rain battering the outside of the factory. Bucky lays still all night, unable to force himself to sleep. He closes his eyes and prays for sleep to take him. His mind whirrs, thoughts and images flooding his brain and projected on the backs of his eyelids like his own personal moving picture. He watches as his family floats around him, saying their hellos and goodbyes. Winifred pinches his cheek lightly, smiling at him with crinkled brown eyes. Then her face morphs into Isabel's, and she's saying something to him, her mouth is moving around six important words, but he can't hear her.

There were words that Isabel told Bucky he was supposed to say if the end came and he still had time. He still can't remember them. He can't remember them, so he can't say them. There's three things, though, that take precedence in his mind. He can't forget them, can't forget them, no matter what the doctor does to his mind.

Name, rank and serial number.

James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038.

Name, rank and serial number.

Sergeant Barnes, James, 32557…

A hand on his shoulder. A face above his.

Name, rank and serial number.

His name.

 _Bucky._


	27. Chapter 26

**26.**

 **United States**

 **August 8** **th** **, 1943**

The USO Tour drags on as Steve is driven and flown from state to state. Brandt puts him up in classy hotels every night, Isabel in an adjacent room, and they practically have access to anything they desire.

Isabel spends the first few times in the various hotel rooms staring at the room itself, in awe of how expensive and fancy it seems compared to the life she lived in Brooklyn. Their second night she runs herself a full bath, not having to worry about the price of the water, and pours in all of the soapy liquids along the cabinet, sitting in the bubbly tub for over an hour, just relaxing. She would've gotten out earlier had Steve not knocked on the door to her room, making her hurry out of the tub to get dressed.

Over the months, Steve spends his days rehearsing new scenes and learning the women's dance choreography so he doesn't get in the way. He films various news reels and movie clips and poses for posters and photographs.

As the icon travels the country, he gains momentum in fame, appearing in newspapers and comics that sell off the shelves within minutes. He spends his evenings performing, doing one show and then eventually two every night in each state to a roaring crowd of super-fans decked out with their own helmets and stars. The shows gradually become more extravagant, adding scenes and even a motorcycle that Steve holds above his head, complete with three women sat on its leather seat.

After each show there's a meet and greet for those who buy war bonds, where Steve spends hours taking pictures with babies and children and signing the autograph he'd learned over and over on books, comics, pictures, and even people's arms. All the while he starts to become more comfortable in his new role, smiling while he's performing and making easy conversation at the meet and greets, not even freezing by the time he holds his twentieth baby, giving it a kiss on the cheek for the camera.

Isabel watches the shows from the crowd, seated somewhere toward the back of the auditorium where there's less people. She smiles and watches Steve blunder around, still not entirely coordinated in his new body. Eventually she finds herself singing that disastrous song, the tune getting stuck in her mind and repeating itself day in, day out. It's enough to make anyone go insane.

After the shows, she waits patiently as Steve does his meet and greets, waiting for him in his dressing room or watching from the side of the stage. She hardly sees Steve for more than an hour at a time, save for watching him on stage and at odd moments here and there, when they are mainly flanked by someone else. It feels as though Steve hasn't been left alone since he emerged from the chamber, always being questioned or interview or fitted for a new pair of red boots or being updated on a change to the script. Isabel watches him sigh in defeat, accepting her isn't going to get that twenty-minute break to do some sketching, and answer their questions and listen to Senator Brandt's rambling, grateful for this opportunity but oh so sick of it at the same time.

Still, Isabel keeps herself busy, sending letters to her family and to Bucky. Her parents flip when they find out that the Steve Rogers touring the country as Captain America whose face is plastered in magazines and in the commercials before the talkies start is actually their Steve, the skinny kid from Brooklyn they've watched stumble through life, so different to his confident persona onstage. They ask hundreds of questions, which at first Isabel is unsure whether she can answer. She asks Brandt and finds out she is cleared to tell them whatever she wants. She has a feeling that's just the Senator rebelling against the strong hold the Army tries to maintain over Steve, and so keeps the facts to a minimum, playing upon what they'd already told them before the experiment occurred. She tells them to keep looking out for Steve on the radio and in magazines, and every now and then they send her a pamphlet or a book where his image has been printed, or a newspaper article about his success.

She gets letters back from her family, but never from Bucky. She'd expected to get one back very soon from Bucky after she'd told him what Steve had done. She'd expected him to be angry too, confused, scared, the works. But she never got a reply, nor to the other five or six she's sent since. It doesn't sit right in her stomach, since he'd promised to always write, but she supposes that letters get lost in the mail all the time, and the front is notoriously hard to get letters delivered to in some areas. She hasn't heard of any other letters being sent home, so she doesn't let herself worry. No news is good news.

When she isn't writing home or the front, she's reading up on her medicine, analysing the data she gets from examining Steve. Every Monday morning, Brandt gives her time to fulfil Erskine's wish without interruption. They eat breakfast together on Steve's bed, taking the time to talk. She then drags Steve into the bathroom. He sits patiently on the closed toilet seat, looking way too large for the cramped space, and Isabel sets up the medical kit on the counter by the sink. She takes a small vial of Steve's blood, checks his vital signs, and takes his bodily measurements, looking for any changes that may indicate that the serum is failing or only temporary.

Steve eventually goes off with Brandt when he comes a-knocking, looking regretful, and Isabel stays at her hotel room a little longer with her test kits, continually working from the bathroom. Luckily there are never any changes, Steve seemingly going to stay Captain America for the undetermined future. She writes down her results in one of Erskine's books she'd found amongst his things and then flushes the blood sample down the toilet, sanitising the bathroom each time. Stark had told her she had to be extremely careful with any samples from Steve, considering the serum could be replicated from his blood. She checks and double checks every time, paranoid she'll leave a trace behind.

One morning, Isabel decides she needs more time to investigate the changes in Steve. "I need you a little longer this morning, so when Brandt comes, I need you to tell him you aren't ready yet."

"Why? What are we doing?" Steve asks, shoving another croissant in his mouth, unable to stench his hunger.

"I've been taking your vitals and your measurements but it isn't enough to really understand the physical changes you've undergone with the serum. It's clear from your first day with the serum when you chased the agent through Brooklyn that you have enhancements, but we don't have any idea of what. We need to do some physical, exercise-based tests. Erskine said he took note of how you performed at boot camp, and Howard was kind enough to have it delivered to me a few days ago. So, we're going to replicate the tests and see how you do now. It still won't be enough to understand the full scope of your abilities, and maybe you never will, but at least it's a start."

Steve agrees and leads Isabel down to the stage area, not even waiting for Brandt to come and find him to inform him where they're going. She sits cross-legged on the hard-wooden ground of the stage, putting the open notebook in her lap and sorting out her pencil sharpening it beside her. She reads over Erskine's notes, seeing the different exercises they were rigorously tested in.

"Your asthma wouldn't have liked this," she notes.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I don't think my asthma stuck around," Steve answers, running on the spot to warm up.

"Okay, first up was push-ups. Says here you could only manage five before you started to struggle, and eight before you couldn't manage anymore." Isabel looks up at Steve and eyes his thick arm muscles. "Bet you a dollar you can beat that."

"Nice try," Steve deadpans, getting down into the push-up position. He begins, moving up and down easily with a bend of his elbows. "How long do I keep going for?" He asks, his breath not even quickening even as he passes the one hundred mark.

"Don't know, I guess until you start to feel muscle fatigue?" Isabel asks. "We'd be here all day if I said until you collapsed."

Steve throws her a sloppy salute with one hand while still pumping one-armed push-ups with the other. Isabel tries not to watch as he does push-up after push-up, the strain of his arm muscles, the strength of his tight back, but its so hard to look away. She doesn't want to get caught staring so eventually she forces her eyes away, back down to the notebook, and makes notes about the changes. Steve makes it to the one thousand mark quite a few minutes later before he gets up.

"My arms feel slightly fatigued, but it's nowhere near unbearable. I'm sure I could go another thousand or more before it becomes a pain, and even then I could probably continue," Steve informs her, smiling at the success of his efforts. Isabel writes it all down in the notebook.

"Jumping jacks?" She asks, and Steve begins dutifully, jumping up and down and bouncing the dust around on the stage. She watches a few minutes, the bouncing almost rhythmic. "We'll be here forever," Isabel eventually mumbles, and Steve jumps a little faster, not once breaking his perfect posture. He reaches a thousand jumping jacks as well before he stops, saying he could keep going all day, only a few beads of sweat on his brow.

Isabel gets up off the ground and flattens out her skirt, her backside and legs uncomfortably numb from sitting on the floor. "Okay, so you're super fit," she says, writing those exact words down in the notebook. "I'd suggest seeing how far and fast you can run, but we're working with minimal space. Let's see how high you can jump. A no running start, flat footed jump. I'll just have to estimate."

She watches as Steve stands with his feet apart, bends his knees, and springs upward some ten feet into the air, landing effortlessly on his feet again. "What the hell?" She breathes, mouth hanging open. Steve repeats the jump, this time getting a little higher than the last. He almost manages to grab hold of the catwalks hanging over the top of the stage. He could probably haul himself up there if he wanted.

"You gonna write it down?" Steve asks with a cheeky smile, apparently very pleased with his new abilities.

"Uh, yeah," Isabel replies, quickly scribbling it down. "How is this even possible?" She mutters to herself.

"What's next?" Steve asks, bouncing around with energy to burn.

"We don't know anything about your healing factor but I don't want to test that out. I'd rather not inflict any harm on you, unless you deserve it," she adds with a wink. "So, we'll move on. We've kind of established what kind of weights you can lift, and with ease too. You held an eight-hundred-pound motorcycle above your head with one arm and with three women sitting on top of it, and you didn't even bat an eye to it or break a sweat. I think super-strength is almost an understatement."

"True," Steve replies. "It strained a little bit, but it wasn't unbearable. Would've been much easier to hold with both hands."

"You could pick a person up like they're a feather," Isabel says in astoundment.

"Like this?" Steve asks cheekily, standing in front of Isabel in two long strides and grabbing her under her armpits. He lifts her easily and gently, as though she weighs nothing, her feet dangling above the floor. Isabel grabs his forearms to steady herself. "Steve," Isabel laughs awkwardly. "Put me-"

"I reckon if we went dancing I could do some of those whack spins and jumps the men do."

"Probably," Isabel agrees, a little breathless.

Steve tries something, though Isabel wouldn't call it a dance move. He spins in a circle, taking Isabel with him, her skirt flaring in the wind. She laughs and so does he. When he stops spinning her legs keep swinging like a rag doll, flicking to one side before coming to a stop. He puts her down carefully, though she's a little dizzy and hangs onto him for a moment.

"Never thought you'd do that spin me round like I was a four year old, but here we are," Isabel laughs.

"Life is mysterious. You'll never know where you'll end up."

"This gives me an idea. You're strong enough, easily. Maybe you could start you own one-man furniture removals business if the Captain America soldier expedition falls through," Isabel suggests, smirking at Steve. "Keep the uniform too. The Star-Spangled Mover with a Plan. How easy would it be for you to lug a sofa up a staircase? Or an icebox? You are going to get so many help calls from family and friends in the future."

"Ha ha, can't wait," Steve deadpans.

"Rogers?" A voice bellows from the far side of the auditorium, and Steve and Isabel spin around to face the voice, watching as Senator Brandt storms down the row and makes his way onstage. "Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over!"

"I've been here, sir. Isabel and I were testing my abilities."

"Oh, that's just great, except that you're due to start filming a film reel ten minutes from now at a film lot that's a twenty-minute drive away. Hurry up, you can get your uniform on in the car," Brandt berates, and then turns and storms back out the auditorium.

While Steve is off filming, pretending to be running through war-town European towns, dodging fake explosions, and having photos taken of himself in uniform pointing at the camera in Uncle Sam fashion, Isabel is left at the stage to keep writing notes in Erskine's journal and to entertain herself. It's a usual experience, since she's left alone quite a lot. Eventually she always grows bored and leaves the location, spending a few hours walking around the latest city they are visiting, watching the people and admiring the buildings and parks. She realises that even though the city is her home, not any city will do. No matter how beautiful or similar, nowhere will be equal to New York City, or at least, not for her.

Eventually after walking around a while she gets lonely, wishing she weren't having to walk alone, and always makes it back to the auditorium in time to wish Steve luck before his show.

By the end of each night, when all of the viewers have left and the meet and greets have wrapped up, Steve goes back to his dressing room to change back into casual clothes. Brandt had sent Isabel out to shop for a whole wardrobe for Steve after the success of the serum since none of his old clothes had a chance of fitting. Shopping for undergarments had been especially awkward. Once Steve is dressed and ready, and Brandt has given him any breaking news since he last saw him before the show, Steve and Isabel are driven back to their hotel and left to their own devices for the rest of the night, which usually isn't long.

* * *

 **Augusta, Maine**

 **September 12th** **, 1943**

Steve holds the door open for Isabel as she clambers out of the car into the cool night air. He closes it behind her and waves the driver off, leaving them alone on the sidewalk.

"You hungry?" Steve asks. "We could get dinner somewhere?"

"Sure," Isabel agrees, looking around the street they're standing on.

There's a small diner on the corner, similar to their local hangout in Brooklyn, and they both decide on it, heading inside. They take a seat at a booth, Steve facing away from the open room to avoid being recognised. They take a gander at the menu and order, the waitress not even batting an eyelid at the familiar-looking blonde.

"So, we head back to New York tomorrow for your last show," Isabel notes, taking a sip of her Coke. She savours it, since it was always a delicacy for them growing up.

"I know. Feels a little surreal. We've done so much in so little time."

"Well, you have," Isabel laughs.

"You haven't been too lonely, have you? I feel like I've neglected you," Steve admits, looking guilty.

"Don't be silly, Steve. You don't need to entertain me every second of the day."

"But you have been lonely?" He pushes.

"Maybe a little at times. Leaving New York was hard at first. But I've kept in touch with my family through letters. And there's a purpose behind all this. I've been ensuring Doctor Erskine's work doesn't go unattended. You've been selling War Bonds. We're making a difference. That makes it worth it," Isabel tells him, smiling assuredly.

Steve nods at her. "If you're sure."

"I am." A pause. "What do you think will happen once tomorrow night is over?"

"Not sure, anything could happen, knowing Brandt," Steve sighs. "I hope I don't get demoted back to lab rat."

"You wouldn't let that happen, and neither would I," Isabel disagrees. "I don't think Agent Carter would either if she found out. Phillips may see you as a bit of a dancing monkey right now, but we all know you could snap him in two with your pinky finger. You'd be a critical asset to the war effort with your brute strength and strategist mind, he just doesn't see it yet. I bet if you tried to enlist again you'd get sent straight to the front before anyone could even ask where you'd run off to."

"I don't doubt that either," Steve says, thanking the waitress when she puts his burger and fries down in front of him. He looks at it sceptically, since it definitely won't be enough to satisfy his enormous appetite. He takes a big bite of his burger, his stomach rumbling as they sit there.

"I'd like to see you snap Phillips in half," Isabel mutters, before taking a delicate bite of her burger.

"Of course, you would," Steve laughs.

"Don't act like you wouldn't like it," Isabel tells him.

Steve doesn't answer, but his sheepish grin gives away his distaste for the gruff Colonel. "Are we going to see your family once we're back in New York?"

"I doubt we'll have time tomorrow since we only get in two hours before the show starts, but maybe the next day, supposing you're allowed to leave the premises."

"I'm sure Brandt can let me out for a few hours."

"Are you sure? He's got you on a pretty tight leash." Steve doesn't reply, but he doesn't argue. "Here, you can have the rest of mine, I'm full," Isabel offers, pushing her plate toward Steve, who's already cleared his own. He eats the remaining half of hers, and then ends up ordering another, the waitress looking at him both in surprise and disgust.

Steve insists on paying the bill, having come into a large sum of money for his work so far, and then holds the door open for Isabel as they make their way into the night. The air is cool, and they're both without jackets. As they walk the block back to the hotel, Isabel takes Steve's offered arm, threading her hand into the crooked of his elbow and leaning into his warmth.

"You're like a radiator," Isabel laughs, holding his arm tightly. She can't help but think how good he'd be to cuddle, with his warmth and solidity.

"It certainly will come in handy in winter," Steve says.

They enter the lobby of the hotel and make their way up to their floor in the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder. The doors open and they take out their room keys, opening the doors at the same time.

"If you want, you can come in with me for a while?" Steve offers. "We can listen to the radio, do some drawing, write a letter to Bucky?"

"Okay," Isabel says, her heart aflutter. "I'll be right in, I'll just put my purse away."

Steve nods and they disappear into their own rooms. Steve halts when he sees a figure sitting in the chair in the corner of his room. Senator Brandt stands up, looking guilty. "Sorry for imposing on your hotel room, Steve, but I have the spare key."

"That's okay," Steve says carefully. "Was there a reason for your visit?"

"Actually, yes. I need to discuss with you the next stage of the USO Tour."

"The tour is continuing?"

"Yes, to the European front. We won clearance."

Just at that moment, the front door flies open and Isabel walks in, her arms filled by a book to write in, various ink pots and some photographs and pamphlets to include in the letters. "I got the– Oh, Senator Brandt. Hi."

"Hello, Miss Barnes," Brandt says. "You may as well be included in this conversation too, since it will affect you. Take a seat."

Isabel awkwardly puts the stationary down on the desk and sits on the end of Steve's bed beside Steve, Brandt sitting again in the chair in the corner. She looks questioningly at Steve, who shrugs in return. "The USO Tour has been cleared to travel to the European front. To perform to the soldiers in the infantries," Brandt explains.

"Are you sure they'll like that?" Steve asks sceptically. "Won't they think I'm a bit of a joke?"

"Of course not, you're an American hero."

"A hero who's never fought or experienced any type of battle and can't imagine half of the things those men have been through. With respect, sir, all I've done is sell war bonds and done a little song and dance. They'll never go for it."

"They will, Rogers. You don't need to worry. You just need to wear the costume and say the lines." Brandt clears his throat. "The new show has already been planned. There's hardly any props or choreography, and only six of the original twenty dancers are coming along, so you won't need to worry about being in their way. It's only slightly similar to the original so you'll have a new script to learn. I have it here. It has been modified to accommodate the soldier's circumstances, obviously. We are not promoting war bonds, but comradeship, morale, and continued contribution and loyalty to the Allied war effort."

Steve looks unsure. "Sir, I–"

"You'll be closer to the battle," Brandt tells him quietly. "I'm on your side, Steve. I myself can see this isn't what you were made for. I'm trying to help you here, kid."

Steve looks up at Brandt. He seems to contemplate this, because he nods his head. "Okay, I'm in. When do we leave?"

"You'll fly out tomorrow night after the final New York show. That way we'll be in Europe by the next day."

"We don't get a night in New York?" Isabel asks, her voice solemn.

"No, unfortunately not. The timeline and budget doesn't allow for it. I suppose you are going to Europe too, Miss Barnes? You are still keeping to your own agenda? Not staying in New York?"

"Yes, I'm still employed by the SSR to monitor Steve's vitals. I can't very well do that from New York when he's somewhere in France," Isabel says sourly, upset at the thought of not seeing her parents and siblings again.

"Actually, Italy is our first stop after the London show. Those boys are in dire need of a morale boost." Brandt stands up, slapping his hands on his upper legs as he does. "Well, it's settled then. We have a five-hour drive to New York tomorrow, followed by your two performances, and then the flight to London leaves at eleven. It'll be a long day, so get your beauty sleep." With that, Brandt lets himself out, leaving the two friends sitting on the end of the bed.

"Looks like we're going to Europe," Isabel mutters, staring at the door after Brandt.

"Looks like it."

* * *

 **Manhattan, New York City**

 **September 12th** **, 1943**

Steve wraps up his final show in his home city to a tremendous applause, fireworks exploding in the sky above him. He holds the motorcycle above his head, a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. Despite the embarrassment and unfulfillment of the USO Tour, it has been his chance to get closer to his goal, has strengthened his confidence immensely and has allowed him the precious time to adjust to his new body. He's also been able to be of some help to the war effort, having sold enough war bonds to seemingly keep the Army going for years to come.

The lights go down and the curtain closes, and Steve easily puts the motorcycle down, the girls jumping off. They file off the stage, Steve at the back of the pack, pulling his cowl off of his head. He finds Brandt at the side of the stage, who ushers him downstairs to a private room for the final meet and greet of the American leg of the USO Tour.

"There likely won't be meet and greets on the front, so this may very well be your last. Make the most of it, and remember these people paid extra for this experience. There's going to be a few photographers this time for the newspapers, but don't let them distract you," Brandt tells him, guiding him to his position. "Put your cowl back on," he tells Steve, helping him pull it down over his blonde hair. They both then look up as the door to the room is opened by an aid. "Ah, in come the ladies."

A flock of women and children enter through the single door, the children dressed in Captain America merchandise, all battling for front position to meet the iconic hero.

"People please, remain civil! Form a line, you will all get your turn," Brandt calls out, herding them into a neat line and stopping them from clogging each other into the door frame as Steve starts signing autographs and posing for pictures.

Steve slowly makes his way through the fans, his hand cramping from its grip on the pen and his eyes stinging from the flash of the camera. The children beam up at him and throw themselves into his arms for photos, and he knows the women would do the same was there not a security guard to Steve's right keeping them in step. Instead, they bat their eyelashes at him and smile seductively, appreciating his physique in the costume and making him blush profusely, which only makes them giggle more. He just smiles back at them and signs _"Captain America"_ in fancy cursive on their items of propaganda, posing for the photographs and ignoring the fact that their hands seem to flit very close to his spangle-clad behind.

He pushes through the seemingly never-ending crowd of women and children, eventually nearing the end of the line, when one photographer yells out to him.

"Hey, Cap! Who's the girl? She's been everywhere on this tour, she your girl?" Steve looks up in confusion, then follows the man's eye line, finding Isabel waiting patiently behind him with Brandt. She looks up too, glancing questioningly at Steve's stare. The flash goes off and she looks to the cameraman in surprise, while the photographer smiles, knowing he's just captured Captain America staring at an unknown woman who's been present for the entire tour.

"We'll make no comment," Brandt answers for Steve, though the statement alludes to more than an answer would have. Isabel puts her face in her hands, embarrassed. This is sure to be in the paper tomorrow. Steve signs his final autograph for a young boy, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. The boy runs back to his mother, excitedly showing her the paper, and she smiles thankfully at Steve, who fake salutes her for show.

The aid closes the door to the room, ushering the photographers out. Isabel follows Steve back to his dressing room, where he has to hurriedly get changed so they can make their flight. He changes while Isabel waits outside, both of them still mulling over Brandt's comment. When Steve opens the door, he's also holding both of their suitcases, which they'd brought with them to the theatre. Isabel goes to take hers off him, but he waves her away. "I got it."

"Oh, Captain, how strong you are," Isabel imitates the other women who got an autograph, touching his bicep in wonder. "And so brave. You really know how to dazzle a woman. If only you had a free hand so that you could sign an autograph for me."

"Doll, you can have an autograph anytime," he replies in a Brooklyn drawl, sounding an awful lot like womaniser Bucky. Steve laughs at her antics and at his own response, but immediately falls serious again. "You know that picture will be in the paper tomorrow? Everyone is going to see your face."

Isabel sighs. "I know. The photographer asked if I was your girl. You can bet that'll be mentioned somewhere if it isn't the headline."

"They're going to imply some pretty awful things," Steve warns sympathetically. "A single woman travelling with her male friend across the country without an escort."

"This isn't 1899, Steve. A woman can be friends with a man," Isabel laughs.

"I know that, but not everyone else does. If you want, we can ask Brandt to release a statement. Put the rumours to bed?"

"Not a very good analogy, Steve," Isabel laughs. "But yes, I know. The media can be cruel, but we'll deal. Don't worry about getting Brandt to say something, he normally does more damage than good. The only reason the USO Tour was so successful under his leadership is because he was behind the curtain with the lighting crew and not on the stage. It'll be fine."

"Okay, I won't say anything," Steve agrees.

"I just hope it wasn't a bad photo. He rather caught me off guard."

* * *

They would end up seeing the photograph a few days later when it gets sent to them by Brandt. It isn't too bad, Isabel has to admit. She just looks a little confused and Steve looks a little embarrassed. " _Captain America's girl?_ " The headline asks. " _Who is the mystery love interest? How will she help Captain America in his quest for freedom and justice?"_ Isabel cringes and throws the newspaper back into Brandt's hands.

"You had to say it," she tells Brandt, shaking her head.

* * *

Neither Isabel nor Steve had ever been on a plane before the USO Tour. Most of the legs of the tour had been driven, and they'd therefore spent a lot of time in cars and on busses, but the longer journeys had to be made by plane to save time.

Their first experience in an air plane had been interesting on the flight from Florida to Tennessee. They'd both been a little frightened by the loud noises and feeling of weightlessness that came with flying, but by the end were accustomed to the feeling, intrigued by the view of paddocks and farmland below them when they'd looked out the window. By the end of the tour, they considered themselves professionals at the flying game. They knew how the check in worked, the baggage claim, and the ins and outs of boarding the plane and the plane ride itself. It was a pretty surreal feeling for two city kids who'd never left the state before that time.

When they settled in for their long-haul flight that night, they had no idea how different it would be. They were aware it would be tiresome and boring, considering the flying time was over eighteen hours, but they had preparations to combat that. Steve had his sketchbook and Isabel had multiple novels all shoved into Steve's backpack. However, despite the airline's cheerful advertising and top-notch service, the air travel is far from comfortable.

Steve himself is much too big for the seats, so he takes the aisle at first, his shoulders tight and squashed into himself so that he doesn't lean into the aisle. Half an hour in Isabel puts the arm rest up so that Steve can lean toward her side more, since she barely takes up any room in comparison.

They try not to think about how expensive their seats were, especially when the food is brought out and they can't even believe their eyes when they're presented with a steak, potato and vegetables on a silver platter.

"I don't think I've ever eaten a steak like this before," Isabel all but drools, digging in immediately.

The flight itself is awfully loud, cold and unsettling. For a first-class ticket, it doesn't feel first-class at times. The engines emit a loud hum and rattle the entire flight, the wind howling against the windows. The cabin isn't pressurised, so the plane flies at a low altitude, meaning it is bounced around a lot by the wind and the weather. Without the bouncing, Isabel thinks you could almost forget you were flying through the sky hundreds of feet above the ground.

Part way through the flight, while Steve is sketching and Isabel is reading her book, neither of them tired enough to sleep despite how late the hour would be back in New York, the Captain of the plane announces they are flying into a storm. Steve puts away his sketchbook to save it from damage, Isabel putting her book in the seat-back in front of her. The plane begins to bounce around dangerously, dropping and lifting through the sky and causing their stomachs to sink as though they were on a roller coaster. Isabel grabs Steve's hand in panic, holding it tight, imagining all the scenarios of the plane going down and them falling to their deaths and drowning in the ocean below. Steve puts his other hand over hers too, rubbing circles into the back of her hand comfortingly, not showing his worry outwardly for her sake.

"Don't worry," he tells her with a cheeky smile. "If the plane goes down, I'll kick a hole in the side of the plane and jump out when we are about to hit the water. You can ride on my back and I'll swim us far enough to be safe, and then I'll just lay back and you can use me as a flotation device until someone finds us."

"I'm glad you have a plan at the ready, but it's still not comforting, Steve," Isabel hisses.

"No one's going to let Captain America drown in the middle of the ocean," Steve reassures. Isabel glares at him. She puts down her window blind that she can't see the darkness outside, the black ocean only just visible in the expanse below.

They pass through the apparent storm and emerge out the other side, the plane returning to its normal rhythm, and Isabel eventually relaxes.

"We need to sleep," Isabel tells him. "Brandt will probably have you working as soon as we land." They look to the seat behind them where Senator Brandt and his aid sit, both of them asleep with their mouths open, snores escaping them. How they slept through the storm, they'll never know. "They'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed and we'll look like we haven't slept in two years."

Steve laughs and agrees, settling back in his seat with his head against the headrest. He is still for a while before he starts shuffling, unable to get comfortable sitting up so straight. Isabel lies there too with her eyes closed, but she's too wary of all the sounds and the movement of the plane, of Steve rustling beside her, and the fact that her backside is going numb from sitting on it so long. The plane is also freezing, the blanket hardly doing anything to fight the chilly air of the cabin.

"Why is this flight so long? I'm tired and cold. I just want to lie down," Isabel eventually groans, leaning her head on Steve's shoulder. Her tiredness is starting to make her grouchy, but she can't make herself sleep.

"It would've been nine days on a ship," Steve reminds her, his eyes still closed.

"Least we would've had a room and a bed and our own toilet," Isabel grumbles. "Why don't you take the window seat so you can lean against the wall of the plane with a pillow? At least then you'd have more room," Isabel offers.

Steve hesitates. "No, it's okay. You lean against the wall."

"Steve–"

"I don't need as much sleep as you do. If I sit here long enough, I'll probably doze off."

Isabel rolls her eyes. "I'm not the one who's been performing and practising all day and all night," she argues, unbuckling her seat belt. She stands up and lifts her leg, awkwardly trying to climb over Steve's lap without flashing anything under her skirt.

"Wha– What are you doing?" Steve stumbles over his words, his eyes wide as Isabel stretches over his legs. She falls forward with a jolt from the plane and lands sitting on his knees, using his shoulders to steady herself, her face not all that far from his.

"This was more graceful in my head," Isabel mumbles, laughing with embarrassment. Steve gulps, his heart picking up the pace. She quickly makes it into the aisle, flattening down her dress again. "I'm going to use the restroom. By the time I'm back, I expect you will have moved to the window seat, unless you want me to climb over your lap again? Your call," she tells him, disappearing down the aisle.

Steve rubs a hand down his face. He's really too tired to argue. He undoes his seat belt and moves over obligingly, settling into the window seat. He leans against both the seat and the wall, finding it to be much roomier, though his legs stretch quite a way into Isabel's leg space. He bundles up his pillow and stuffs it in the gap between his chair and the wall, just perfect for him to rest his head against. He gets comfortable, pulling the blanket over him and lays back against the wall, already feeling sleep coming on.

Isabel comes back after a few minutes, slumping into her new seat. She bundles up her pillow and squashes it in the gap between her seat and Steve's, making it stay upright. She leans against it, but looks awfully uncomfortable, just lying there with her eyes closed.

"Come, lay here," Steve whispers to her, patting his chest.

"What? No," she says grouchily, moving her pillow and trying to find a better place for it.

"Come on, it'll be warm," he persuades.

He grabs her pillow from her and rests it on his chest so she hasn't got a choice. She looks at him hesitantly for a moment before giving in, apparently persuaded. She carefully lays down against him, her head on the pillow and by extension on his chest. It's immediately more comfortable and extremely warm, Steve's body heat radiating through his blanket and her own. He pulls her blanket up to her neck and settles his arm around her shoulders to hold her in place as she snakes her free arm around his waist, her other arm tucked up under her. Within seconds she's asleep, the exhaustion taking over.

Steve takes a second to push her hair from her face before he closes his own eyes, letting sleep take him away.


	28. Chapter 27

**27.**

 **Allied Camp, Italy**

 **November 3rd, 1943**

The crowd of soldiers in front of the stage is silent. Five miles from the front, they can only faintly hear the sounds of guns and explosions, and it's awfully unnerving. The day is miserable, the sky a dark grey, rain threatening to fall on the muddy campsite.

"How many of you are ready to help me sock old Adolf on the jaw?" Steve asks cheerfully to the continued silence of the glum soldiers. None of them look very impressed. Isabel covers her face in embarrassment for Steve. She'll be having a stern talk with Brandt over his choice of script. "Okay. Uh… I need a volunteer."

"I already volunteered! How do you think I got here?" A voice heckles from the crowd, the soldiers laughing. "Bring back the girls!"

The soldiers start a chorus of cheers, and Steve immediately fumbles. "I think they only know one song. But um… let me… I'll…" Steve meets Isabel's eyes, and she hurriedly waves for him to come off stage. While their first show the day before in London had been an undeniable hit, the first show of the European leg is not going well. "I'll see what I can do," Steve manages, moving to step offstage.

"You do that, sweetheart."

"Nice boots, Tinkerbell!"

"Come on, guys. We're all on the same team here," Steve tries to reason.

"Hey, Captain! Sign this!" One soldier yells, standing, turning around and pulling down his pants to reveal his behind. The soldiers laugh, beginning to hurl tomatoes and other objects at Steve, who blocks them with the shield. He dejectedly walks off stage as the women run back on to dance skimpily to an immediately cheerier crowd.

"Don't worry, pal. They'll warm up to you. Don't worry," Brandt's aid says offhandedly, continuing to watch the girls dance skimpily for the soldiers.

"Come on," Isabel says, dragging Steve to the back of the stage where the music and cheer of the crowd is muffled. "Honestly, what was Brandt thinking. Has he ever met a soldier in his life?"

"That was just terrible," Steve sighs, plopping down on a step. "There's no point. They don't want to hear that stuff from some radio personality. I'm pathetic. I'm a joke to them."

"But you aren't a joke, or pathetic. You want to do good, Steve. That's what you've always wanted for the world. Remember why Erskine chose you."

"I bet he didn't intend for me to be a dancing monkey," Steve says sourly, pulling out a pocketbook and a pencil. He begins sketching a monkey on a unicycle with an umbrella, and Isabel waits patiently as he vents his frustration onto the page. She looks out at the camp around them, watching the men run through the rain from tent to tent, their boots squelching in the mud.

"Hello, Steve, Isabel," they hear a familiar British voice say from behind them, jolting them both out of their reveries.

The friends turn on the step, looking up to see Peggy Carter standing there, glamorous as ever. "Hi," they say in unison, their tones surprised.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks, as Peggy carefully sits on the next step, flattening down her skirt.

"I thought you were bound for London?" Isabel adds.

"I was. I've been in London a few weeks, but I decided to make the trip out here. Officially I'm not _here_ at all," Peggy says, looking back at the stage behind them. "That was quite a performance."

"Yeah. Uh… I had to improvise a little bit. Crowds I'm used to are usually more, uh, twelve," Steve says bitterly, eyeing the dancing monkey drawing again. Peggy sees it too, raising a perfectly-arched eyebrow.

"I understand you're "America's New Hope"?" Peggy asks.

"Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit," Steve parrots.

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"

"At least he's got me doin' this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab."

"I wish they weren't your only two options," Isabel inputs, looking sadly at her friend.

Peggy agrees. "A lab rat or a dancing monkey. You were meant for more than this, Steve."

"Everyone knows it, even the USO Girls see something in you, the makings of a leader. They listen to everything you say, and not just because you're the only man in the troop," Isabel says. Steve nods at this and goes to respond but hesitates. "What?" Isabel presses.

"You know, for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I'm wearing tights," Steve says with a grimace, looking disgustedly at his legs clad in navy-blue tights.

A honking in the background gets their attention as an ambulance arrives, carrying wounded soldiers into a medical tent. They're bruised and battered, covered in blood, groaning against the movement of their stretcher. "They look like they've been through hell," Steve notes sympathetically.

"These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the one-oh-seventh. The rest were killed or captured."

"The one-oh-seventh?" Steve says quickly, his eyes widening. He looks at Isabel, who's own face has lost its colour, replaced by a deathly pallor.

"What?" Peggy asks, looking between the two friends with concern.

"Come on!" Steve says, grabbing Isabel's hand and running with her through the rain toward the main tent, Peggy following along behind them, confused, her jacket lifted over her head to protect her hair from the rain.

Steve drags Isabel into Colonel Phillip's tent, both of them soaked from the shower outside. "Colonel Phillips," Steve says sternly, unfazed by the chill of the water.

"Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan. And what is your plan today?" Chester Phillips mocks, looking up from his paperwork to stare expectantly at Steve.

"I need the casualty list from Azzano."

"You don't get to give me orders, son," Phillips says warningly.

"Then I just need one name," Steve pushes, stepping closer to Phillips. "Sergeant James Barnes from the hundred and seventh." Isabel takes a sharp intake of breath, and Steve takes her hand in his, squeezing it tight.

Phillips eyes the pair for a moment, unamused, before he turns his glare to Peggy, pointing at her. "You and I are going to have a conversation later that you won't enjoy."

Steve stands a little taller. "Please, tell us if he's alive, sir. B-A-R–"

"I can spell," Phillips snaps. Then, his voice seems to lighten sympathetically, and he sneaks a glance at Isabel. "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

Isabel immediately hides her face in Steve's arm. Steve takes a steadying breath. "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah, it's called winning the war."

"But if you know where they are, why not at least…?"

"They're thirty miles behind the lines, through the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save. But I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl," Phillips growls, going back to signing his condolence letters.

"I think I understand just fine," Steve says, putting his arm around Isabel's shoulders comfortingly, knowing his battle with Phillips is coming to an end.

"Well, then understand somewhere else and get here outta here. If I read the posters correctly, you got some place to be in thirty minutes," Phillips tells him finally, looking away again.

Steve takes a second to commit the military map beside Phillip's desk to memory, a small marker on it indicating where the men are being held. "Yes, sir. I do. Come on, Belle."

Steve leads Isabel from the tent back into the rain, his arm still around her shaking shoulders, both from the cold and from the tears. They hear Phillips snap again at Peggy as they leave, then they hear footsteps behind them as Peggy follows them back to Steve's tent. Steve opens the tent flap and pushes Isabel inside, carefully sitting her on the bed, kneeling in front of her. He wipes a tear from her cheek with a sad smile on his face. "I'm going to go get him, Belle," he promises.

"What?" Isabel sniffs. "No, you can't. You heard the Colonel, it's way too dangerous. You can't!"

"I can, and I will," Steve says stubbornly. He stands, gets out a backpack and begins packing things inside, sliding on a leather jacket, stealing one of the dancer's helmets and scooping up the fake shield.

"What do you plan to do? Walk to Austria?" Peggy asks, entering the tent and putting a comforting hand on Isabel's shoulder.

"If that's what it takes."

"Your friend is most likely dead," Peggy says bluntly, eliciting a fresh bout of silent tears from Isabel.

"You don't know that."

"Even so, Phillips is devising a strategy. If he detects–"

"By the time he does that, it could be too late," Steve decides. He walks out to a jeep out front, swinging his backpack into the passenger seat. Isabel hurriedly follows after him, intent on stopping him, her cheeks soaked with tears and now rain. "You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean it?" Steve asks Peggy, turning to face her.

Peggy nods, squinting through the rain pounding her face. "I did. I meant it."

"Steve, please–" Isabel tries.

"Belle, if you think the same as Peggy then you gotta let me go," he tells her, getting into the jeep. "Stay here and be careful. Stay with Peggy. I'll be back, I promise."

"Don't make those kinds of promises, Steve," Isabel tells him solemnly, leaning against the door of the jeep. "Bucky promised too."

Steve looks up at her sadly, his hand pausing with the key already inserted into the ignition. He almost looks as if he may stop and think about what he's doing, or maybe won't go at all, until–

"Wait!" Peggy says suddenly. "I can do better than this."

* * *

Isabel is a wreck. Steve left her on the ground of the tarmac over three hours ago, flying off in a tiny little plane with Peggy, piloted by none other than Howard Stark. She'd watch the plane disappear before trudging back into the camp, soaked to the bone from the rain and shaking from the cold, heading straight back to Steve's tent. She'd changed clothes and thrown on another jacket, then sat on the bed. She watches out the flaps of the tent as the sun sets over the tree line, the darkness enclosing the camp leaving an awfully eerie atmosphere of isolation. She taps her hand on her leg and her foot on the floor, both waiting and distracting herself. It's absolute hell.

When Peggy Carter finally steps into the tent, she looks unfazed by the events of the last few hours. She's wearing a fitted brown leather jacket, a scarf tied neatly around her dainty neck, her hair tied back into a ponytail. She looks more like a film star than a secret agent on the battlefield.

"We tried to take him all the way in, but our plane was bombarded. He parachuted into the general area, only a few miles from the factory. The rest is up to him," Peggy says, taking a seat beside Isabel. She looks at the young girl carefully, her brown eyes critical. "Lucky I turned down fondue with Stark in Lucerne, you're a sweat."

"What?" Isabel breathes, extremely confused.

"You're worrying," Peggy reiterates. "Try not to. I gave Steve a transponder. He'll activate it when he's ready and the signal will lead us straight to him. Howard and I will send a team to retrieve them."

"And what if it doesn't work? What if you can't find him?"

"As Stark told him, the transponder has been tested more times than he has. And if it doesn't, I'm sure Steve, as well as any members of the 107th he finds, will be more than capable of finding their way to the nearest Allied camp." Peggy stands up then, grabbing Isabel's arm and gently hauling her up as well. "Come on. We need to keep our minds off of it, and you need to eat. Let's brave the mess hall. If we're lucky enough the men will find us attractive and will give up their seats."

* * *

 **Azzano, Italy**

 **November 3rd, 1943**

Steve runs through the dark forest, keeping low to the ground. He stops by a road, right near the entrance to the Hydra factory. Spotlights stroll across the grounds and fence line, two guard boxes positioned either side of the entrance. At the sound of an approaching car, Steve hides in the bushes, watching as multiple trucks pass into the factory grounds. He waits until the last truck passes and then sprints up behind it, jumping over the lip into the bay. He tumbles in through the canvas flaps, greeted by two Hydra soldiers in black masks staring at him.

"Fellas," Steve says, before they run at him. He easily gets in two punches to each's face, then throws them out the back of the truck onto the road.

The truck passes through the secure gate without question, backing up to a loading bay at the side of the factory. Steve waits with his shield in front of him for a Hydra worker to open the canvas flap, knocking him backward with the metal plate as soon as he does. He quickly jumps out of the truck bay, sneaking through the yard of cars, trucks and tanks undetected. Each vehicle is marked by a large painted emblem of Hydra, the octopus seemingly glaring at him as he passes.

Steve mounts a tank and uses it to climb up onto the roof of a small building, running along it to find access to the main building looming in front of him, over fifteen stories high and black as the night sky, only visible thanks to the lighted windows.

Steve manages to sneak into the Hydra factory undetected, finding an open window along the main building and squeezing inside, the shield only getting caught momentarily on the windowsill. He hurries through the hallways, crouching low with the shield clipped onto his back and his pistol raised. He follows the hallways far into the factory, hoping he'll end up on the factory floor. He doesn't speak German, not even a lick of it, so none of the signs pointing him in various directions make any sense.

When he reaches a locked door with a small glass window, he peers through it, seeing the floor before him. A guard paces in front of it, his eye on the rafters high above them. Steve knocks quietly on the door, getting an agent's attention. The agent peers around the door, getting his head squashed between the door and the frame before Steve punches him square in the nose, dragging his unconscious body away from the factory floor and hiding it in a nearby cupboard. Steve creeps inside carefully, hurrying between the crates and machinery to hide himself from the patrolling Hydra goons.

From between a cluster of upright missiles he hears the sound of male American voices talking. He tries to make his way toward the voices, his pistol raised, but is distracted by a round machine holding vials of electric blue liquid. He picks up a blue shining cartridge, unaware what it is but thinking it may be useful, and pockets it.

Eventually he comes to a part of the factory where the floor on his level is made entirely of grate. When he looks through the slits in the metal, he can make out multiple bodies in round cells below, the majority of them wearing the American Army uniform. He hits a patrolling soldier from behind, knocking him to the floor, his face pointed down to the soldiers below. They stare up in confusion, hurrying to stand and watch as Steve takes the keys to the cell from the man's belt.

"Who are you supposed to be?" An African-American soldier asks.

"I'm…" Steve hesitates. "Captain America."

"I beg your pardon," a British accent speaks up, the man wearing a maroon beret and wielding a dark moustache. Steve ignores him, hurrying below to unlock the prison cells, the prisoners of war pouring out of their confined spaces.

A man with a bowler hat and an impressive orange moustache eyes a Japanese looking man carefully. "What, are we taking everybody?"

The Japanese man takes out his dog tags, the metal clinking together. "I'm from Fresno, Ace," he says with a Californian accent.

Steve ignores them, leading the group of men away from the cells. "Is there anybody else?" He asks worriedly. "I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

"Why's he looking for Bucky?" Bowler-hat guy asks his friends.

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it," the British soldier offers, though he seems unsure.

"Alright," Steve says. "The tree line is northwest eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find."

Steve turns to leave. "Wait!" The African-American stops him, causing him to turn back. "You know what you're doin'?"

"Yeah," Steve nods. "I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times." He runs off toward the isolation ward, leaving the men to nod their heads in surprise.

After a few minutes, the alarm of the factory begins to sound, and Steve hears the sound of explosions outside. He supposes the men really are giving them hell. A few minutes later, another siren blares, this one ominous. Steve hesitates and looks around, continuing when no one comes emerging to attack him.

Unknown to Steve, Schmidt is watching him on the monitors in the control room and has set the factory to self-destruct in seven minutes.

"What are you doing?" The frog-like Zola hisses, confronting his boss.

"Our forces are outmatched. Secure the blueprints," Schmidt tells Zola, leaving the room to secure the Tesseract. Zola takes a look at the screens, seeing a man clad in stars and striped sprint past the monitor. He hurries from the room, entering the isolation ward where the American Sergeant lies on a metal slab. He quickly packs up his blueprints before hurrying from the room, leaving the mumbling man. It physically hurts him to leave his project behind, especially when there's been so much progress, but Zola lacks the time and the strength to bring the Sergeant along with him. Besides, he has faith that in time, the Sergeant will be brought back into his possession for further experimentation.

Steve pauses in the damp, dark, bricked hallway when a short man wearing glasses emerges from a side door, running away from him down the corridor. Steve hesitates to chase him, hearing a mumble from the room he vacated. He peers inside, walking around the corner carefully, freezing momentarily when he sees Bucky lying on a sterile operating table.

"Sergeant. 32557…" Bucky mumbles over and over, his eyes unfocused as he stares up at a massive laser beam above him. Steve runs over to him.

"Bucky," he says, trying to get his friend's attention, but Bucky continues mumbling, his eyes zoning out. "Bucky, oh my God." Steve hurries to unstrap Bucky, the tearing of the material jolting Bucky from his trance. He slowly looks toward Steve, his eyes widening slightly.

"Is… Is that…?"

"It's me. It's Steve," Steve reassures, looking worriedly down at him.

"Steve!" Bucky realises, his mouth stretching into a wide grin of relief.

"Come on," Steve says, easily hauling Bucky into a sitting position and helping him jump off the table. He holds Bucky's weight as Bucky stumbles, trying desperately to regain his energy. He has no idea how long he was laying on the table for. It could have been minutes, or hours, or weeks. And he also has no idea what was done to him. He feels a dull pain in the crease of his elbow where they'd set him up with a drip.

Bucky eventually manages to look up, panting heavily. Steve's eyes are heartbroken, and he grasps the back of Bucky's neck, seeming unable to believe Bucky's here. "I thought you were dead."

It's then that Bucky takes a good look at Steve, realising he's a good foot taller and built like a house. "I thought you were smaller," Bucky says quietly, wondering whether this was another drug-induced hallucination. He's had a few of those on the table and while he'd somewhat welcomed them because they put him at ease and filled in the time, they also made his heart ache and his brain hurt when they ended and he found he wasn't actually in Brooklyn but still on the table. Bucky reaches out to touch Steve's arm, feeling the warmth of flesh and muscle beneath his leather jacket. None of his hallucinations had felt real when he'd touched them, but he still isn't entire convinced.

Steve jolts at the sound of an explosion within the building, then catches sight of a map of Europe on the wall, little markers indicating where the major Hydra factories are located. He studies it, commits it to memory, before wrapping Bucky's arm over his shoulders. "Come on."

He supports Bucky's weight as they run from the room, Bucky clutching to him tightly. "What happened to you?" He asks incredulously.

"I joined the Army," Steve answers simply.

Bucky slowly gains strength and manages to run on his own, stumbling at first and still doubled over as if pained. "Did it hurt?"

"A little," Steve admits, striding confidently down the hallway.

"Is it permanent?" Bucky asks, his voice laced with frustration and disbelief that's always evident when he's around Steve.

"So far," Steve says nonchalantly.

On the factory floor between them and their exit, the factory goes up in smokes, explosions setting off in every area as the countdown reaches zero. Steve and Bucky descend the stairs to the balconies over the factory floor, watching as the ground beneath them is drenched in white hot flames. Steve jumps back as an explosion licks up toward them, hurrying back up the stairs to a higher level, looking for a way to cross the exploding metal ravine. He spots a bridge and runs for it, only to halt at the sound of his name.

"Captain America!" A German accented voice calls from the other side of the floor. "How exciting! I am a great fan of your films!" A middle-aged, dark-haired man tells him, handing a long rectangular case to the small doctor Steve had spotted earlier. Bucky freezes up at the sight of them both, glaring at Zola whilst also looking like he may be sick.

Steve leaves Bucky on the solid balcony, crossing onto the bridge to meet the man in the middle. "So, Doctor Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still impressive," the man mocks, earning himself a hard punch to the cheek from Steve.

"You've got no idea."

Schmidt holds his face in shock, clutching his sore jaw. Steve frowns when he sees that his eyes look warped, a bit of red appearing from beneath them as though his skin shifted.

"Haven't I?" Schmidt asks, lashing out at Steve, but Steve blocks the punch with the shield, and Zola's fist leaves a deep indent in the metal. Steve goes to pull his pistol and Schmidt gets another hit in, sending Steve flying backward and his pistol flying over the edge of the bridge into the fire below. Schmidt moves to descend on Steve again, but Steve kicks him with both legs in the chest, sending him flying backward as well. On the other side, Zola hurriedly pulls a lever, separating the catwalk as both sides retract away from each other, separating the two foes. Steve stands as he moves away, back to Bucky, who leans heavily on the railings for support and coughs at the smoke rising from the fire above, getting thicker in the air around them.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success," Schmidt yells, grabbing at his skin and peeling it off to reveal it was a mask to hide a red face underneath, his nose almost entirely missing and his face all bone. Steve and Bucky's stomachs turn uncomfortably, the man before them nothing but a skeleton.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asks hoarsely, his face rather pale and his eyes wide.

"Not that I've found," Steve replies, his mouth open in horror and disgust.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality," Schmidt throws his mask into the fire below, and Steve watches it fall. "You are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!" Red Skull tells him as he and Zola escape into an elevator that will see them escape the building.

"Then how come your running?" Steve growls after him as the doors close, hiding the Red Skull and Zola from view.

"Come on, let's go. Up." Steve leads Bucky further up the stairs, nearing the roof of the building. There's a thick metal beam protruding across the gap, connecting both sides. "Let's go. One at a time." Steve sends Bucky out first, who steps carefully across the thin gantry as the factory burns beneath him. At another explosion, the gantry rattles, one side snapping off from the main balcony. Bucky slips and makes a break for it, jumping to the railing and throwing himself over as the beam snaps off, falling into the fire.

Bucky looks around frantically, squinting to see through the smoke that burns his lungs. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"

"Just go! Get out of here," Steve tells him, looking around himself.

"No! Not without you!" Bucky yells back stubbornly. He then coughs violently, having inhaled a large waft of smoke. He grabs the collar of his dirty knitted jumper and presses it against his mouth and nose like a mask to filter the smoke, ignoring the overwhelming smell of body odour, blood, sweat and piss.

Without a choice, Steve grabs a protruding metal railing, bending it inward to create a gap. He takes a few steps backward and sizes up the gap, shaking his head in disbelief, before taking a running start and jumping off the edge. Bucky's eyes widen as Steve comes toward him, engulfed by a sudden blast of fire from below. Time seems to slow down as Steve crosses the chasm, suddenly appearing through the flames and hitting the railing in front of Bucky hard, clutching it frantically to stop from slipping. Bucky grabs his arms and helps haul him over the railing, both of them falling safely onto their backs on the metal grate of the balcony. They take a second to breathe, looking up at the burning roof above.

"What the fuck?" Bucky yells, sitting up on his elbow and hitting Steve's shoulder in anger. "You could've died."

"But I didn't," Steve counters. "Let's get out."

Steve pulls Bucky to his feet and they escape through a door, Bucky still muttering something about Steve being stupid. They find themselves outside the burning building on a ledge that runs around the perimeter of the building. Steve scoots along the edge that feels dangerously high off the ground to a ladder and climbs down with Bucky following, hidden by the darkness.

On the ground below, the entire yard is on fire, every tank and car in flames and Hydra bodies scattering the grounds. Past the fencing along the tree line, Steve can just make out the silhouette of multiple tanks and cars, and a crowd of soldiers awaiting them. Steve and Bucky snag a weapon each from a fallen Hydra soldier and quickly make their way across the grounds with their weapons and shield raised, though there isn't anyone left to attack them. They approach the crowd of soldiers, all of them looking up as the mysterious man who saved them comes into view, accompanied by a familiar face they'd resigned to never seeing again when he'd been taken away from the factory floor by the guards.

"Barnes!" The man with the bowler hat calls gratefully, engulfing Bucky in a tight hug that makes Bucky noticeably wince. "You're a damn stupid kid, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," Bucky laughs, loosening up and exchanging hugs and handshakes with the other men who Steve had spoken to upon releasing them from their cells.

"Your leg. It's healed," Morita notices, eyeing the leg that Bucky is standing and walking on without a limp.

"Yeah, it was all those days of getting to lie on a table. Hydra was kind enough to fix it for me," Bucky says easily.

Steve pulls the transponder from his pocket, finding it fried from the explosion. He sighs. "We got a long walk back so we gotta get a move on," Steve tells them, pocketing it again. "Anyone who's wounded can ride in a tank or a car. Everyone else will have to walk. We haven't got any rations, so I hope you aren't all too hungry."

"Nah, only ravenous," Dugan jokes. "We can go a few more days before some of us resort to cannibalism."

The mass begins to walk, sticking to the roads and relying on their tanks and newly accumulated Hydra weapons for protection. They don't run into anyone the entire time, the men simply walking, knowing that the end destination will most likely be a ticket home. They did it, they survived the odds.

"What did they have you doing in there, Buck?" Steve asks Bucky as they walk side by side at the front of the pack, Bucky with his rifle at the ready.

"Labour, mainly. Building this massive plane and bombs and weapons to go on it. You'd never believe the size of it, I-I've never seen anything like it. They never told us what it was for, we just kept our heads down and did it or else we didn't come back. They worked us hard, but if we didn't work we didn't eat, not that they gave us much."

"Why were you in an isolation ward? What did he mean about your leg?" Steve asks carefully.

"The he is Jim Morita. The leg was fucked. Bad. When we got captured at Azzano, I took a bullet to the leg trying to get everyone free. Jim got the shrapnel out in the cell, but it was messy. The wound wasn't clean enough and it got infected. I was out for a good three days, and then I was put to work. I pushed through the pain, but one day I collapsed. Probably sepsis or something. When you weren't well enough to work, they took you away. No one ever came back, and we didn't know what happened to them. They took me away, stuck me on the table, put some stuff into me. I don't really know. I wasn't really very lucid, thought I was dead for a little while. They didn't explain much, and I didn't give 'em anything besides my rank and serial number. Next thing I know, you're knocking on my door to pick me up, a head taller and triple your size."

"Who's they?"

"His name is Doctor Zola and he works for Hydra. That's all I really got."

"You don't remember what they did to you? Obviously, your leg healed," Steve notes, since Bucky walks without any trace of a limp.

"I really don't know. One day my leg feels like it's splitting in half, when I wake up, it doesn't hurt one bit. I coulda been out for weeks or I could've been out a few hours. Whatever they did to me fixed it up. Coulda been penicillin, coulda been somethin' more sinister. Guess we'll never found out now. Unless you know something that I don't?" Bucky pushes.

"Maybe," Steve replies. "Could be what happened to me. An enhancement serum."

"So that's why you're taller," Bucky realises.

"Yep. The day you shipped out, I went off to boot camp. They chose me for an experiment, and they gave me the serum. When the procedure was over I looked like this. I could breathe again, and I could see clearly. Took away all of my ailments. Within minutes I was chasing a Nazi spy through the streets of Brooklyn when he stole the last of the serum."

"You get him?"

"No, he took a cyanide pill."

"Damn, in the teeth, right? Sneaky bastards," Bucky says, shaking his head.

"Anyway, Colonel Phillips wanted to send me to Alamogordo to be an experiment, but Senator Brandt took me on instead, sent me on a tour around the country to promote war bonds, named me Captain America," Steve continues.

"You know, I saw those posters and I thought it was just some random idiot. Never in my life would I have guessed it was you."

"I'm a little disappointed you didn't recognise me. The guy on the poster's got my smile and everything," Steve laughs.

"Yeah, well, how was I to know? Last I saw you, you were five feet five and ninety pounds soaking wet. And I didn't want to look like a creeper checking out the poster of 'America's New Hope'," Bucky laughs. "So, this serum. What'd it do to you?"

"Mainly physical changes. It got rid of all my illnesses, gave me increased stamina, strength, and we aren't sure yet because I haven't been injured, but Doctor Erskine predicted I'd have an increased healing factor. That guy with the red skull back in the factory, he was given an earlier version of my serum, but it failed. It was Doctor Erskine's biggest mistake. I was his way of making up for that."

"What about your brain?" Bucky asks. "It make you any smarter? That needed making up for, too."

"Nice, Buck. But if you must know, yes, I think it did. I seem to have developed a photographic memory, and I process information faster than the average person."

Bucky nods. "Not bad. Maybe if whatever those fuckers dosed me up with is half as good as what you've got, this won't be so bad. Coulda just been some damn good pain meds, though and some work from a medic. Jim said I'd heal if I could have surgery."

Steve nods, then leaves Bucky and his friends at the front to travel down the line, checking on the men, both injured and uninjured. He takes his time, talking to the men, asking them about what happened, before returning to the front.

"The men want to walk through the day and the night. Said they'll work out a roster for driving the tanks, walking and sleeping," Steve informs Bucky's friends.

"Sounds good, Cap. The longer we walk, the sooner we get back to camp. I'm dying for a hot meal and a piss that doesn't go in my pants or behind a bush," Dugan says with a hearty laugh, the other men murmuring in agreement.

Steve laughs at the men, though a little grossed out since he's not used to the humour and rejoins Bucky. He finds himself looking at Bucky in awe, since he thought he'd never see his friend again alive.

"Isabel is going to be so excited to see you," Steve says, the comment slipping out.

"I bet. She'll have to wait a while though, I gotta get all the way home first," Bucky smiles.

"Ah yeah. About that," Steve says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What?"

"She came with me. She's back at the camp."

"What?" Bucky hisses, pulling Steve to a stop. The entire line comes to a halt behind them. "You brought my sister to a war front? Steve, what the hell is wrong with you? You were supposed to stay home in _Brooklyn_ and look after her. That's what you promised me before I left!"

The men behind them start up a quiet ruckus, hitting Steve's shoulder to indicate he's in trouble.

"As if she was going to stay home," Steve argues. "She's a nurse, she wanted to come. She was a part of the project that did this to me."

"Not comforting," Bucky hisses through gritted teeth, desperately wanting to shake Steve but resisting so he can keep his eyes on the forests around them. "Steve, I swear to God," Bucky says warningly, pointing a finger at Steve.

"She's fine, Buck. She's had no experimenting or anything, she's just keeping an eye on what happened to me to make sure it's permanent," Steve says, pulling on Bucky's arm to get him walking again. The thumping of men's feet on gravel and stone starts up again behind them. "You know I wouldn't let anything happen to her. I'll explain everything, I promise."

"Yeah, you better. And you better buy me a stiff drink to pair with that explanation. Or a whole fuckin' bottle would be nice," Bucky growls.

* * *

 **Allied Camp, Italy**

 **November 6th, 1943**

Back at the musty camp, Isabel follows Peggy around like a lost puppy, according to Steve's word. She helps Peggy carry her things and they eat meals together, otherwise sitting in the tent and waiting, watching the wind and the rain come and go outside, as well as the soldiers.

On the third day, Isabel follows Peggy into Colonel Phillips base tent, standing back and allowing the agent to deliver her information. Colonel Phillips is busy dictating a letter to a Corporal, who types away on a typewriter.

"Senator Brandt, I regret to report that Captain Steven G. Rogers went missing behind enemy lines on the third. Aerial reconnaissance has proven unfruitful. As a result, I must declare Captain Rogers killed in action. Period," Phillips says, constructing the letter that will be sent to Senator Brandt. The Senator will have a lot of explaining to do to end the USO Tour.

"The last surveillance flight is back. No sign of activity," Peggy announces, further adding to the blow for Isabel.

"Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal," Phillips tells the man, who leaves the tent toward the mess hall with a "yes'sir".

"You know, Miss Barnes," Phillips says. "Since Rogers wasn't a registered soldier with the United States Army, we don't have any of his details on record except what he gave for his involvement in Project Rebirth. The last few days since his absence, I had some of our agents do a bit of digging and we found that he has no living relatives. Since your brother is currently missing in action as well and you are the only other person we are aware of that is of significance to Rogers, that makes you his primary next of kin. Normally these sorts of things are not discussed in person, but you're here. Therefore, it is with all sympathy that I must declare Rogers–"

Isabel shakes her head. "Sorry sir, but it's only been three days," she interrupts. "Steve isn't one to give up when the going gets tough. I'd say he endeavours to complete his mission and won't return until he does so."

Phillips eyes her carefully, but nods. "Consider him missing in action, then," he tells her, before turning a cruel eye on Peggy. "I can't touch Stark. He's rich and he's the Army's number one weapons contractor. You are neither one," he tells the British agent.

"With respect, sir, I don't regret my actions. I don't think Captain Rogers did either," Peggy replies proudly.

"What makes you think I give a damn about your opinions. I took a chance with you, Agent Carter. And now America's golden boy and a lot of other good men are dead because you had a point to prove."

"It wasn't that. I had faith," Peggy answers, ignoring Phillip's undercutting message.

"Well, I hope that's a big comfort to you when they shut this division down," Phillips snarls.

Suddenly, outside the tent, soldiers start running through the camp, talking excitedly. "What the hell's going on out there?"

Phillips follows the crowd of soldiers who make a crowd at the edge of the camp, Peggy and Isabel following and joining the mass, which suddenly parts down the middle. In the distance, a large group of dirty soldiers make their way up the beaten track, the boom-gate opening for them. Steve confidently leads the soldiers through the camp, Bucky on his left flank, hundreds of men filtering behind him driving enemy tanks and cars. Steve marches confidently through the crowd to shouts and cheers, eventually coming to a stop in front of Colonel Phillips in the middle of the camp grounds.

"Bucky?" Isabel cries, pushing through the crowd and throwing herself into her brother with arms outstretched, his gun dropping to the floor as he holds her against him, revelling in the familiar feel he never thought he'd get again. "I thought you were gone, that I was never going to see you again," she cries, grabbing his face and eyeing the cuts and bruises before checking him over for other injuries.

"I'm fine, I'm okay," he reassures her, relief in his own voice as he pulls her in for another hug, halting her examination. The other members of the one-oh-seventh don't dare to say anything, filled with relief that their Sergeant was reunited with his family, and admiration for the bond they clearly share.

"You smell so bad," Isabel mumbles into his shoulder, making the other soldiers laugh.

Beside them, Steve salutes Phillips cautiously. "Some of these men need medical attention," Steve announces. A bunch of medics appear immediately, efficiently grabbing the wounded and leading them toward the medical tent. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

"That won't be necessary," Phillips says, a faint smile lightening his weary face.

"Yes, sir," Steve says, smiling himself.

Phillips walks away, muttering something to Peggy. Peggy checks that Isabel and Bucky are still reuniting, not wanting to impose, and quickly steps up to Steve.

"You're late. You made your _friend_ very worried," she tells him, putting an emphasis on the word "friend".

"I couldn't call my ride," Steve says, holding up his broken transponder. Peggy takes it off him and smiles.

"Well done, soldier," she says, parting from the group with Colonel Phillips.

Isabel replaces Peggy's departed figure, standing in front of him, both worried and angry and relieved. "Steve, you are an idiot but I'm so proud of you," Isabel tells him, hugging him tightly around his waist.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Steve mumbles into her hair, holding her around her shoulders. "But I told you I'd bring him back."

"Yeah, you did. And I'll be forever grateful." Isabel pulls away to stand before Steve, smirking up at him proudly as he smiles back. She grabs his hand in her own and squeezes it.

"Hey! Let's hear it for Captain America!" Bucky calls behind them, the men breaking out in cheers and claps, Bucky clapping the loudest of them all and looking on proudly at his friend. Steve turns around and smiles at Bucky, and Bucky returns a "what the heck" kind of look, shrugging.

But as soon as Steve turns away, Bucky's face falls, and he instantly remembers the recent torture and non-consensual medical experimentation he's just been subjected to. He desperately wants to be okay and return to the fearless, naïve, "I can do anything" mentality he held before the war. He's always been a rock for Steve that was there to support him no matter what, and suddenly, he's the one that needs the support from Steve, and the feeling is terrifying. He feels like he's announcing to someone who's seen him as strong all their life, that he's weak.

He also remembers every past experience they've had with fighting. He sees pre-serum Steve back in Brooklyn, unable to ignore a street fight where a bunch of rough teenagers are laying into someone. He sees Steve pass through the crowd and help the victim, even though he's small, managing to beat the bullies with brains and a little brawn and Bucky to save the day. He sees them winning the fight, sending the bullies away, and himself shouting "Let's hear it for Steve Rogers!" to the watching crowd because he can't take all the credit. But no one says a word. Not a cheer to uplift Steve's spirits, and a burden of disappointment settling on Bucky. Now, he thinks of this new, tall, strong Steve; Captain America in all his glory. He saves a lot of soldiers and brings them back from the hell of a Hydra base. He becomes somebody to them all. Bucky shouts "Let's hear it for Captain America!" and the crowd explodes with cheers and applause. Everyone only cheers for the Captain, because the Captain is someone to them. He and his sister are maybe the only people who saw Steve as a hero before he was Captain America, and he's really disappointed that no one else does, too.

* * *

Isabel spends the rest of the day in the medical tent, helping the nurses with the overflow of injured, undernourished soldiers. Bucky spends the day in there too, getting checked out for his own injuries and catching up on some much-needed rest. Steve, meanwhile, is summoned to Phillips' tent with Agent Carter, where he recites the tale of saving the prisoners of war and explains the insides of the Hydra factories.

That night, Isabel finds Bucky in Steve's tent, where Steve is still missing. There's another cot set up in the corner, Bucky's possessions on it.

"Steve insisted I have a bed in here with him tonight. Said you were bunking with Carter," Bucky tells her with a sad sort of smile.

"Good," Isabel says, "Steve missed you too much for you to be anywhere else."

"You didn't miss me?"

"'Course I did," Isabel laughs, swatting her brother's shoulder for being so silly.

Bucky smiles, but his façade falls quickly. He sits down on the edge of his cot, leaning forward on his legs and clasping his hands. "Is, I gotta tell you something."

"Okay," Isabel says warily.

"Steve already knows a little bit about it; he's actually the one who put the serum idea in my head. But don't say too much to him, he'll only worry."

"I won't, just… Bucky tell me, you're scaring me."

"Hydra. They experimented on me. I don't know what they did, but they pumped me with this grey, thick liquid that was like fire in my veins. The pain was enough that I think I passed out. When I woke up, I felt different. I dunno how. Then they experimented on me – seeing how long I could hold my breath underwater, testing how long it took for my wounds to heal. And they did heal, fast. A bullet wound to my leg was gone within days. They inflicted a few more injuries on me, cut into my skin, and it healed within hours, not days or weeks."

"You think they gave you a serum like Steve's?" Isabel asks quietly.

She sits down next to Bucky with her medical kit in hand and pulls out a metal stethoscope, leaving a bunch of scalpels and medications in the kit. Bucky flinches and jumps to the other end of the bed at the sight of the medical equipment, forcing himself to take steadying breathes.

"Whoa, Bucky, it's okay. I'd never hurt you," Isabel promises, slowly moving closer and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I just want to see what your vitals are like."

"Okay," Bucky grits out, letting her measure his heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure.

"Your temp is up, but everything else is normal. How do you feel physically?"

"Stronger. Like I could run a marathon and hardly be puffed."

"You said you healed quickly?" She asks, taking a look at the bruises on the sides of his temples. "What are these bruises from?"

"They put me in a chair, Is. Up until the day Steve got me out, they stuck me in the chair a few times every day. I had these pads that stuck here, on my temples, and then they sent electricity through me. They told me the chair was a prototype. It was supposed to wipe my memories. Sometimes, a few of my memories did fade a bit, and for a while when I was mumbling my name, rank and serial number I'd forget my first name or my rank, but it always came back to me."

"W-what?"

"I dunno what they were trying to do, Belle, but I don't like the sound of it. If they were trying to make me like Steve, they wanted me to fight for them without knowing who I was and why I was doing it."

"Buck, they were trying to wipe your memories. To make you an assassin or something. We gotta tell Steve about this," Isabel argues, moving to stand.

"No! Please," Bucky pleads, holding her in place. "If anyone finds out, they'll just want to experiment on me further, work out what it is. I don't trust them. I don't wanna be experimented on again. Don't please, I'm begging you."

"Okay, okay, I won't, I promise," Isabel agrees. Bucky's eyes fill with tears and he leans into her, his chest racking with sobs. Isabel wraps her arms around him, holding him close, his hears soaking her shoulder and her hair.

"They fucked me up really bad, Belle. I don't even know how bad," Bucky says through sobs, his throat hiccuping.

"It's okay, we'll work it out," Isabel promises. She rubs his back comfortingly, waiting for the tears to cease and his breathing to return to normal. "Buck, do you trust me? I know it's a lot to ask, but I want to make sure you're safe and that whatever they did to you doesn't make you sick. I can monitor you, the way I monitor Steve. I'll always tell you what I'm doing before I do it, and I won't force you to continue with anything that makes you uncomfortable. We can stop anytime. I'll just check your vital signs and maybe do some blood tests here and there, just to make sure that whatever they did to you doesn't fade away, or that you don't have a negative reaction to the changes."

Bucky looks at Isabel a while, his eyes wide and his lip pouted as he thinks. "Okay," Bucky agrees eventually. "I trust you."

"But at the first signs of failure, we talk to someone. Whether it be Steve or Stark, I'm sure they could help or find someone to. And you tell me when you notice anything else that's new that wasn't there before you were captured. Agreed?" She pushes, holding Bucky's eyes.

"Okay."

Isabel pulls Bucky back down again, holding him close. "It will all be okay, Bucky. You're safe."

Bucky nods, closing his eyes. In that moment, in the warmth of the tent and cradled in the protective arms of his family, Bucky could almost believe it. Almost.


	29. Chapter 28

**28.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **November 13th, 1943**

The first few days back in London after liberating the one-oh-seventh are almost hell for Bucky. Most of the freed soldiers are sent to their respective homes, taken out of active duty; they've all seen enough. A few of them hang around London, providing statements and any information they have regarding Hydra. Steve attends meeting after meeting, learning the ways of the Army and all about Hydra, working alongside Agent Carter to plan their attack. Isabel had been taken under the wings of both Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. While Peggy Carter got her into the base, Stark brought her to his labs to work on the super serum formula.

Meanwhile, Bucky doesn't take the events of the past few months well at all. He spends the first few days in bed, huddled underneath the covers of his bed in the dark. Steve is convinced that Bucky is asleep the whole time, a part of recovery Isabel tells him is vital, until he peeks under the blankets to check on Bucky and finds a set of wide grey eyes staring back at him.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, his voice hoarse from not using it. With his wide eyes and frightened expression, he looks almost like a child, and it causes Steve's throat to clog with emotion.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve reassures quickly. "I was just checking on you."

Steve puts the blanket back where it had been, covering Bucky's head. Steve thinks he hears a faint "thank you" but he can't be sure.

Bucky barely speaks or eats for days except when prompted to, particularly by Isabel who comes to check on him regularly. She does some checks on him that Steve doesn't pay much attention to and tries to force Bucky to eat a little of the food tray she brings him from the mess hall. She never looks very satisfied by the state of her brother. When he doesn't respond much, she sighs quietly, promising to come back later and for Steve to come get her if they need her.

On her way out one particular afternoon, Steve follows Isabel into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Is he okay?" Steve asks quietly, rather vaguely.

Isabel sighs again, running a hand over her forehead as though she had a headache. "Physically, yes. The injuries from his containment have all healed, bar a bit of residual bruising. Despite him not eating or sleeping properly, he's still relatively healthy. Strong heart rate, good blood pressure, his temp is okay." She leaves out how most of his is caused by the serum he was injected with, considering Bucky had asked to keep it quiet. "Mentally, though... well, I'm not a shrink, Steve. I can't say for sure."

"Could we really blame him if he wasn't okay?" Steve mutters.

"No, of course not. Honestly, if he weren't a little changed by it, I would be worried. It's going to take a while, Steve, but I'm confident he'll get better," Isabel says, giving Steve a comforting hug and hanging on until the tension seeps out of Steve's body. "I know it's hard to see him like this."

"I don't know how you're doing it," Steve says into her hair, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders like a lifeline.

"It's called disassociation," Isabel explains. "We learn it for nursing. It's a little harder to do when it's your brother that's struggling, but it's somewhat possible. And I have faith in him, as Peggy would say."

Bucky, always the protector and such a kind soul; it was hard to believe someone would do this to him, that God or whatever otherworldly figure ruled over them would allow it to happen to someone like him. Steve nods at Isabel's mention of faith, letting her go to her own room.

As hard as it is to understand why this inhumanity would happen, it's even harder to see Bucky go through the aftermath. Many nights, Isabel comes up from below where she's been working with Howard to see Bucky, and Bucky just spends the whole time under the blankets in a heap, his body heaving as he sobs. Isabel sits dutifully on the edge of the bed beside him and hugs him awkwardly, petting the top of his head where she can reach. Steve, who often follows her up, sits on his own bed and watches with a solemn expression that is matched by Isabel's own features, tears escaping silently from her eyes.

At night, once everyone is asleep and the world is silent, Steve and Bucky's room is plagued by Bucky's night terrors, which quickly turn into inconsolable and unchecked fear, which transition into hyperventilating and vomiting and lying shaking on the bathroom floor. The first time, Steve is terrified enough to consider leaving to get help, but Bucky clings to his arm and pleads with him to stay and not to tell, and Steve complies, hushing Bucky through the attack. Steve stays with him the entire time, holding Bucky when he requests it or leaving him to sit in a ball in the corner untouched when Bucky pushes him away. The seconds seem to slip by slowly as he waits for Bucky to breathe again, to stop crying and sobbing and wailing. Steve waits and waits with a saddened face, waiting for Bucky to work his way through what he's experiencing. When Bucky is finished, when the flashes and pain have subsided, he either wants to talk about what he's remembered or he's be so exhausted he slumps on the floor and Steve carries him back to bed.

A part of Bucky worries when he gets sick like that that it is a side effect of the serum. Steve doesn't get sick, and probably won't ever again, so why is he? But Isabel monitors him everyday and he finally manages to tell her what is happening to him, what his dreams do to his body.

"You aren't physically sick, Bucky. It's shell shock, most likely," she says. "Just like Dad had when he came back from the Great War. It'll get better, I promise."

Steve and Isabel know how embarrassed Bucky is by his situation, and they are very quick to reassure him that it's all normal and that he'll eventually be okay. They know that all they can do is be there for Bucky, hold him when he cries and make sure he eats and sleeps to regain his strength. They'll be waiting for him on the other side of what he is going through, like the silver lining of a cloud.

Eventually it pays off. As the days pass, Bucky seems to get a little better. The tears stop and the nightly panic attacks that Steve deals with cease, though the bad dreams and nightmares persist. Nightmares, though, are much more manageable and consolable than panic attacks. Bucky's shout always wakes Steve up. The two talk it out, and sometimes Bucky cries it out, before going back to sleep.

Bucky surprises them one morning by showing up in the mess hall for breakfast. He looks like he slept in the gutter - hair untidy, dark bags under his eyes, skin pale, the faint remains of bruises on his temples and pale scars on his arms that he hides underneath his clothes. Bucky eats more than he has in months, stuffing himself to the point that he feels unwell, but it gives him back a spark of energy he'd been lacking since he went into the trenches. Still, Bucky retreats back to his room right away, leaving Isabel and Steve to watch after him. The fact that he's left the room is a telltale sign that he is feeling better. It will take Bucky time to recover, and they all know that his recovery will include him coming to terms and accepting what's been done to him. They aren't under any impression that he is fixed, so to say, but he is definitely healing, a path that will likely be long but worth it. Steve and Isabel take it as a win and wait patiently as, every day, Bucky ventures out more and more, functioning once again.

When it becomes clear that Steve is starting up his own team and will be fighting Hydra, it seems to break Bucky out of his depressive slump. He showers and shaves and looks almost back to his normal self, apart from the clear lack of sleep. He washes and presses his uniform and throws it on, wearing it sloppily but at least wearing it, and he shows up for the meetings he is supposed to attend and reports on his knowledge of Hydra that he gathered whilst playing guinea pig. He also takes it upon himself to educate Steve in the workings of the Army. He corrects Steve's uniform when he wears it incorrectly, fixes his terminology, shows him how to salute, informs him of popular tactics and slang words used on the battlefield - all the information Steve should have learnt at the basic training he didn't actually attend. Steve is ever grateful to Bucky, who's been somewhat of a saviour. Along with those explanations, the two friends have been conversing the last few days about a potential team for Steve to work with to take down Hydra, but it's been nothing more than vague ideas and name mentions. Eventually, they decide on a time to sit down and flesh out a plan and a list of names, to which Bucky gives great thought.

The morning of their planned meeting, Bucky opens the door for his sister who's come to do her daily check of the effects of the serum. Even though Bucky had been frightened of medical equipment, he'd held up his end of the bargain and allowed Isabel to document the changes to his body from the serum. Even though she'd never said, he knows Isabel is also evaluating his mental and physical health, to which he is grateful. Once Bucky is up and about, talking and eating and somewhat sleeping, Isabel seems a little happier with his progress. She gets to work straight away and checks all of his vitals quickly, on a time limit since she's meeting Howard downstairs in less than an hour.

"I heard that some of the men from the one-oh-seventh are going to a bar called the Stork Club tonight to celebrate being liberated. I think they're hoping Steve will show up. You should go and have a drink or two. You deserve it, Buck," Isabel tells him after finishing her tests, packing up the medical kit.

"I've got to deal with the team first," Bucky says. "Steve has been asking me for my opinion on who he should ask to join, since I know all of the men. We're meeting later this afternoon to run over the potential candidates."

"Yes, Peggy explained that Steve was recruiting a team," Isabel says. "From the one-oh-seventh, though? Are they going to want to go back into the fight? They all got cleared to discharge themselves from the Army and go home," Isabel asks.

"I got cleared, too," Bucky mutters.

"Why aren't you going?"

"I'm staying here with you and Steve. If Steve's fighting, I'm going to fight beside him. I can't just let him go out there alone. He's fast and strong and smart, but he has no idea what's going on and what to do. I have to be there. Besides," Bucky says with a shrug. "It's the way it's always been. We've always fought beside each other."

Isabel nods at that, looking thoughtful. "You know, Steve wouldn't hold it against you if you left. He has no expectations of you to stay. If he knew you were offered to go home, he'd probably push for you to leave."

"I know. That's why I'm not telling him. I'm staying."

* * *

Isabel leaves Bucky's room and heads down into the laboratories to meet Howard. She and Howard sit on a stool each in Howard's designated laboratory in the Allied underground base in London, where they are going through Isabel's notes on Steve's vitals from the past few months. There's a lot of thing the two are hoping to do. Firstly, they're aiming to work out what the serum has actually altered in Steve's genome, since they aren't entirely sure of the effects of the serum. Having a scientific understanding of its effects on his DNA will be extremely helpful in determining the long and possibly short term effects on Steve's body and mental health, and may help them to monitor it into the future and prevent any changes.

They also want to know what the serum itself is, what the formula is, so that it can be recreated. It's become clear that Steve on his own is an incredible feat of strength and that he could do some real damage, especially at the head of a unit of soldiers, but if there were to be more super soldiers, the Allies could be unstoppable. Unfortunately, so far there's more missing links than solid groundwork, since most of Doctor Erskine's notes don't line up and a lot of it is coded or written in other languages. It's smart, since the entirety of the serum is not in one place or in one language and therefore cannot be easily duplicated, but it also makes their job all that much harder.

The scientist and the nurse are a little distracted at the moment, though, by the radio in the corner, which is currently tuned into the broadcast of a medal ceremony somewhere in the United States that Steve was supposed to attend to receive a Medal of Honour for his efforts liberating the one-oh-seventh from Hydra.

The Senator speaks in front of a small crowd of Army higher-ups, introducing the great Captain. " _I am honoured to present this medal of valour to my personal friend, Captain America!"_

Isabel snorts at that statement. Brandt had managed to get Steve to the front, but he'd treated Steve like a dancing monkey since day one, promising he would do good for the war effort and sending him on a country-wide performance tour. Brandt had played on Steve's naivety and determination for his own gain, and humiliated Steve in the process. He'd humiliated both of them, too, with his insinuating comment about their relationship to the press. Not to mention, his written speeches for the USO Tour had been so cringeworthy and sometimes, for the soldiers, disrespectful. It's safe to say that neither Steve nor Isabel hold the Senator in high regard.

There's a long silence over the radio before Brandt calls for Steve again, and then once more. _"Captain, that's your cue!"_ They hear a scuffle and then another person comes onto stage, their whispered conversation only a muffle into the microphone.

Isabel and Howard laugh at the Senator's luck, feeling a little sorry for the man for his embarrassment. The Senator tries to play it off, announcing that Captain America was unable to attend the ceremony at the last minute.

"Steve is so bad," Isabel mutters to Howard, shaking her head.

"Like he was going to fly all the way back to New York to get an award when he's ready to fight on the front lines. If Steve leaves here, he'll be worried he won't be allowed to come back," Howard says.

"He'd find a way to get back here, don't you worry," Isabel hums in agreement, a little surprised by how fast Howard picked up on Steve's stubborn personality surprisingly fast.

"I need to get the blue cartridge your boyfriend found from the safe," Howard tells her, sliding off the stool.

"He's not my boyfri–"

"Whatever. You can say that all you like but I know better," Howard interrupts. "I want to analyse the cartridge later, though I already have some idea of what it is. You comin'? Or are you gonna sit here all alone?"

Isabel sighs, but gets up anyway. "I'll come."

Isabel follows Howard from the lab through the base, past the various men and women in their olive-green dress uniforms who look at her rather strangely. She thinks they may be actually looking at Stark, who's celebrity status brings him quite a bit of attention, but Isabel has a feeling it's because of her. She feels a little out of place, not just because she knows almost nothing of what anything on the walls and papers mean and isn't a colleague of these, but also in her navy-blue dress and kitten heels. She looks fine, but she sticks out like a sore thumb, so she'd endeavoured to at least wear her best dresses to make a good impression and look professional. She wasn't offered a uniform as she isn't working for the Army. Technically she isn't really working for anyone but the US government in monitoring Steve. Perhaps, if she was to begin working as a nurse or something similar, she would be provided with a nurse's uniform again. It would feel nice to wear the familiar white dress. She knows that may be pushing the boundaries, though. Since she isn't SSR or US Army, she isn't even supposed to be down in the base. Phillips had insisted she could monitor Steve from off the premises. However, Stark, Peggy and Steve insisted on it, so she'd been allowed to slip through the cracks.

Stark carefully retrieves the small glowing cartridge from the safe across the other side of the base and then they head back toward the lab. They come around the corner and see Steve and Peggy bent over a large map of the European continent, Steve marking off locations with a pencil.

"The fifth one was here in Poland, right near the Baltic," Steve mutters to himself, leaning forward to draw a squiggle. "And the sixth one was… about here, thirty to forty miles west of the Maginot Line." Another officer bundles up the map carefully and takes it away. "I just got a quick look," Steve says, shrugging nonchalantly.

Peggy raises her eyebrows. "Well, nobody's perfect," she says with a smile, making her way around the table. Steve puts the pencil down, following her just as Howard makes he and Isabel's presence known.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be picking up a medal right now?" Howard asks cheekily, making Steve's eyebrows rise in surprise.

Isabel waltzes up beside Howard, smirking at Steve. "We listened to the broadcast," she tells him. "It was disastrous. You threw Brandt to the dogs."

"Yeah, well, I've decided I'm officially off the press circuit," Steve explains, shooting a smile to Isabel.

"What a shame, he looked damn good in that uniform," Isabel whispers to Howard, making the billionaire splutter out a laugh. Peggy doesn't hear, busy watching Colonel Phillips as he approaches the group from across the room, but Isabel forgets about Steve's new enhanced hearing and Steve's cheeks go red at the comment, provoking Isabel's to go crimson as well. She has the urge to slap her own forehead.

Phillips appears beside them before anyone can reply. "Rogers," Phillips growls. "You just embarrassed a United States senator in front of a crowd of reporters and ten members of parliament."

Steve looks worried for a second, intimidated by the Colonel's hardy glare. "Sir–"

"You deserve a medal just for that," Phillips finishes with a laugh, handing over a case with the medal inside. "Brandt only had a plastic copy of the medal. I had the real one directed straight here. I knew you wouldn't be leaving."

Steve smiles proudly, feeling relief that Phillips is finally warming up to him. He looks down at the medal in its case, the silver gleaming in the dull light. He'll have to get Bucky to show him where to pin it on his uniform later.

"How are you two going with decoding the you-know-what?" Phillips asks Isabel and Howard.

"We're reviewing my notes from the past few months, sir," Isabel replies. "Trying to match them up to Doctor Erskine's past observations. That part is going well. Captain Rogers' transformation appears to be running of track and so far, remains permanent. Unfortunately, Erskine liked to hide his information all over. Not a lot of it makes sense and we're struggling to decode the formula."

"Keep working on it. If you need a linguist or a decoder or something you let me know," Phillips offers.

"Thank you, sir."

"You figure out what that is yet?" Phillips asks Stark, referring to the cartridge in his hands.

"If you believe Rogers and the other men's stories," Stark says, holding it up to examine it. "It's the most powerful explosive known to man."

"If?" Steve asks.

"Well, either you're wrong or Schmidt's rewritten the laws of physics," Howard mutters, pocketing the cartridge.

Phillips hums, eyeing Stark carefully. "You better get crackin', Stark. If they're rewriting the laws of physics, I expect you to as well."

"Swell," Stark smirks confidently, pocketing the cartridge once again.

"Speaking of weapons," Peggy pushes to Colonel Phillips, leading him to the map that Steve and her had been writing on earlier, moved to another nearby table. Even though they weren't exactly invited, the others follow and crowd around the map, curious.

"These are the weapons factories we know about," Steve explains to Phillips, pointing out the various dots. "Sergeant Barnes said that Hydra shipped all the parts that the POWs were working on to another facility that isn't on the map. No one is entirely sure where it is, not even the Hydra agents."

"Agent Carter, coordinate with MI6. I want every Allied eyeball looking for that main Hydra base," Phillips directs.

"And what about us?" Peggy asks.

"We're gonna set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass. What do you say, Rogers? It's your map, you think you can wipe Hydra off of it?" Phillips asks, eyeing Steve critically.

"Yes, sir. I'll need a team..." Steve replies, standing just a little straighter. He hopes that Phillips will be open to the team he and Bucky have already been planning.

"We're already putting together the best men," Phillips reassures, not quite the answer Steve was hoping for.

"With all due respect, sir. So am I."

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **November 15th, 1943**

"Alright," Bucky says, smoothing out a blank piece of paper. He and Steve are sitting on Steve's cot in their shared room with the door locked at their decided upon meeting time, both dressed in their uniforms after a day of meetings. "I've seen all these men in action. Spent the last few months living right next to them. I know what they can do, who they work well with, who not so much. I gave it a lot of thought, and I've narrowed it down to these guys."

"Shoot," Steve says, listening carefully to Bucky's suggestions. Bucky's proven himself to have developed a highly strategic mind, with an eye for tactic and identifying the strength of each of his men. Steve can see why he's so highly regarded by the men of the one-oh-seventh.

"First up we got Private Timothy Dugan," Bucky begins, writing down his full name and credentials even though Steve will remember. He remembers everything nowadays. "We call him "Dum Dum" because he's a fucken' idiot. You'll get along well. He's the loud guy with the bowler cap and moustache combo who thinks he's some sort of comedian. Good guy, keeps the morale up. He's a transport specialist. He knows every car, tank and motorcycle, how they work, how to fix them, and most importantly, how to drive them. And he knows the routes. You need to get somewhere, he'll get you there."

"Okay," Steve says, waiting for Bucky to write all of that down in his messy scrawl. Luckily, he skips over the less-savoury parts and sticks to writing down the important information. Steve is sure he'll remember that Dugan is part of their comedic relief.

"The Japanese-American guy is Corporal James Morita. We call him Jim for short, and yes, he's from Fresno. He's the best medic in the field, saved me from dying from that bullet wound. A lot of these guys would have died if he hadn't been at the ready."

Steve nods. Bucky continues.

"Private Gabe Jones, the African-American guy. I know you aren't racist so it won't be a problem. None of the other men I've chosen are either, they all get along pretty well, especially now after they were all imprisoned together. Jones is a communications specialist, he works the radios. He's also fluent in French and mostly fluent in German, which comes in handy. Give him the transponder and it will never get damaged."

"I told you, Bucky, it got damaged in the fire–"

Bucky waves a hand at Steve's excuse and moves on. "Corporal Jacques Dernier. Little French guy. He's not a bad fella, but he doesn't understand much of what we say and we don't really understand him either, so I guess it works. He and Gabe are real close since they're really the only ones who can talk to each other. He isn't in the American Army, obviously, but I'm sure Phillips can pull a few strings and get him on your team. He specialises in demolitions. Helpful in blowing Hydra to the ground," Bucky says.

"What kind of demolitions?"

"Any kind. He can make his own bombs if he runs out. He carries around all these spare parts in a pack and he picks other things up along the way. As long as he's got a bit of C4 or some matches, he can pack a punch."

"Okay, he sounds good. I'll have to talk to Phillips if he agrees to join," Steve says. "Any more?"

"Just one more, he's an outsider too. Lieutenant James Falsworth, Monty for short. Technically he outranks me, but he's a Brit so we don't talk about it. He says you two are already acquainted, that he led you to the isolation room where Zola was keeping me." Steve remembers, the man with the maroon beret. "He specialises in tactics. He's strategic, knows where to go, what to do. He'll probably give your enhanced brain a run for its money. His ideas are quite out-there too and they'll probably just escalate into madness once he knows you're harder to injure and up for just about anything. He'll have you jumping from all sorts of places."

"Sounds like fun," Steve says sincerely, smiling. "That's a lot of people not with the US Army, though. It'll take a bit of convincing."

"Once Phillips sees these guys in action, he won't doubt the choices you make," Bucky reassures. He hands Steve the scrawled-on paper. "Apparently they're all going to be at the Stork Club tonight. I might even go too, if you want me for moral support. You should ask 'em there if they want to join, maybe buy 'em a few beers. I doubt many of them will turn down the challenge. And don't forget, you still owe me a whole bottle."

* * *

At the Stork Club well after darkness falls, Steve sits at large round table surrounded by a group of rambunctious men. He's walked around the bar tracking down all of the men on Bucky's list and gathered them all to the one table. All of them are either Bucky's friends from the one-oh-seventh or those they met whilst being held by Hydra. Steve knows they're an odd bunch, not all of them even American, but the varying roles will make them an unstoppable team. Next thing is to convince them to actually join.

"So, let's get this straight," Dugan slurs, his impressive moustache twitching as he speaks.

"We barely got out of there alive and you want us to go back?" Jones adds, his dark features pulled into an unsure frown.

"Pretty much," Steve admits, watching as the men take sips of beer and smoke cigarettes, emitting a cloud of smoke over the table.

"Sounds rather fun, actually," Falsworth says happily, tipping his hat toward Steve.

Dugan downs his entire beer, belching loudly. "I'm in."

Dernier and Gabe turn to each other and speak in rapid French. Dernier, the small Frenchman, laughs at his oddly-matched American friend and they shake hands. "We're in," Jones answers for them, putting an arm around Dernier's neck in a roughhousing manner.

"Hell, I'll always fight. But you got to do one thing for me," Dugan presses, eyeing Steve.

"What's that?"

"Open a tab," Dugan answers, to a roar from the other men.

Steve laughs and agrees, standing and taking their empty glasses to the bar counter, signalling to get the bartender's attention.

"Well, that was easy," Steve hears Morita say to the other men, chuckling victoriously.

"Another round," Steve tells the bartender, who clears the used glasses into the sink.

"Where are they putting all this stuff?" The bartender asks incredulously, filling another five pints of a local beer that Steve easily carries back to the table in one trip. Admittedly, some of the men look as though they're about to topple over, but Steve decides they need the chance to loosen up a bit, especially after they've been to hell and back and have just agreed to embark on a second journey.

He laughs as he walks away from the rowdy bunch, wondering what he's getting himself into with these men, making his way through a set of open double doors to the next room. This room is smaller and mustier, more intimate with moodier lighting, a man playing piano in the corner. The melody of "There's a Tavern in the Town" fills the room, the soldiers singing along to the lyrics happily, high on the effects of alcohol and survival.

Bucky watches Steve walk back in, having also listened to his conversation with his new team. Steve walks with his hands stuffed in his pant pockets, the way he used to when he was small, and Bucky finds it amusing watching him do it now in his uniform and new physique.

"See, told you," Bucky says, spinning around on his chair with a large grin plastered on his face. "They're all idiots." He takes a swig of his beer as Steve sits on the stool next to him.

"How about you?" Steve asks, settling into his seat. "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

"Hell, no," Bucky says easily, and Steve's face falls just a little at the prospect of fighting without his friend by his side. Of course, he'd never stop Bucky from going home. He'd been offered the ticket his first night at the camp in Italy, but he'd denied it. It was made clear to him the offer was always there. Steve can only imagine what Bucky's seen and been through. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight," Bucky continues, both exasperated and nostalgic. "I'm following him."

Bucky takes another sip of beer as the bartender puts one in front of Steve. Steve smiles down at it, unable to contain the happiness at the thought of them fighting side-by-side, despite the danger.

"But you're keeping the outfit, right?" Bucky adds cheekily, leaning over toward Steve to ask.

Steve looks up to the ceiling, holding back from rolling his eyes, smiling at Bucky like he can't believe his friend. He raises an eyebrow and looks backward toward the poster of Captain America on the wall, his likeness saluting. _"Tour cancelled until further notice,"_ has been stamped across the poster.

"You know what? It's kind of growing on me," Steve remarks.

Bucky nods at that, smirking knowingly. "Isabel liked it, didn't she? The tight spangled uniform, the shield, those red high-heeled boots."

"Maybe she did," Steve says with a raised eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink innocently. "And they weren't high heels."

"Oh, sorry, I must have been mistaking you for one of the dancers."

In the other room, the singing of the soldier's slowly peters off. _"And remember that the best of friends must part, must part. Adieu, adieu, kind friends, ad–…"_ Steve and Bucky look around the corner, seeing a familiar face walking slowly through the bar, her eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Isabel's eyes fall onto the men around the table Steve just departed and recognises them from the return to the camp. She's also been told about them by Bucky when he'd been feeling a little more talkative, and recognises them from Bucky's descriptions.

"Hey, fellas," Isabel greets Steve's new team rather shyly.

"Hey, it's Baby Barnes!" Dugan says excitedly with a laugh, beckoning for Isabel to come closer to him. She does so with a frown at the new nickname she's apparently been gifted, stopping right beside Dugan who pulls her down into an empty seat.

"I don't believe we've been acquainted, though your brother has told us a lot about you," Falsworth says, reaching over to shake her hand. "James Falsworth, at your service ma'am. Call me Monty if you'd like."

"I'm Gabe Jones, and this is Jacques Dernier. He doesn't speak much English, but I can translate."

"James Morita," the Japanese-American man greets from across the table, only slurring slightly.

"Why are there so many James'?" Isabel laughs.

"Friends call me Jim," Morita offers.

"And I'm Timothy Dugan," Dugan says happily, "The best of all of 'em."

"Yes, I've heard about you," Isabel tells him.

Dugan throws his arm over her shoulders. "'Ave you? From Serge?" Isabel nods. "What'd he tell you?"

"He told me that you got yourself shot in the ass," Isabel smirks.

A rumble of laughter erupts from the men as they remember when Dugan took too long ducking down into his foxhole, the bullet flying into his left cheek. He'd screamed and howled as the others shot at the approaching enemy, and once he'd been taken for medical attention, had to lie on his stomach for a week. It hadn't been enough to keep him out of the fight, but he hadn't been able to sit down properly for a few weeks after he returned to the front.

"'Course he told ya that, no one's gonna forget it either. I like you, you're great."

"And I like you," Isabel reassures, laughing at his drunken slurring.

"That kid's great. Your brother, he's a good guy."

"I know he is," Isabel laughs, letting Dugan's arm slip from her shoulders clumsily. "It's nice to meet you all," Isabel smiles at them, laughing at their drunken antics. "I hear you're all joining Steve's team?"

"Oh yes, we can't wait to venture back into the depths of Hydra," Falsworth says. "Not to seem slightly insane, but it's actually rather invigorating. I'd even say it were fun. It's certainly better than being a pencil pusher."

There's a round of agreement and the men down another mouthful of their drinks, splashing the liquid all over the table.

"Your Serge and Cap are through there," Morita tells Isabel, pointing her attention through the double doors leading to another room, where she spots Bucky's face smiling at her as he leans around the door frame, watching her interact with the men.

Isabel smiles gratefully at Morita. "Go easy on the drinks, okay? It'd be a bit embarrassing if you had to be carried home," she tells Dugan playfully, getting up from her forced seat.

"Don't worry ma'am. I can hold my liquor well. I've never even had a hangover before," Dugan reassures.

"Yeah, I doubt that," Isabel laughs.

She waves goodbye to the men, who shout a chorus of goodbyes and other statements at her that all get lost in a mush of words.

Isabel walks through the doors, coming to a stop in front of Steve and Bucky who stand for her when she enters. Steve can't take his eyes off her, his eyes travelling up and down in awe. She wears a dress that's both striking and intriguing, demanding attention and capturing the imagination. Silver metallic sequins coat the top half of the dress, caressing her shoulders, contrasting with the black material of the dress. It isn't the least bit revealing, with a high jewel neckline and short sleeves, but it's enough to make everyone want to know more about the woman wearing it. Steve gets the feeling it didn't come from Isabel's usually quite conservative wardrobe.

"You like it?" Isabel asks shyly, looking down at the dress on her own person. "Peggy lent it to me. It's not what I'd usually wear, but…"

"I like it. You look swell," Steve stammers, smiling at her, his eyes flicking to her red lips.

"Stunning doll, like you stepped out of a Hollywood talkie," Bucky adds, making Isabel blush.

When she glances away to look around the room, Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve, mimicking slapping him upside the head. " _You can do better_ ," Bucky mouths to him. Steve glares back.

"So, your new team is very friendly," Isabel notes, looking back to the boys in front of her.

"How'd you know I was recruiting them tonight, anyway?" Steve asks.

"A little birdie told me."

"Peggy," Steve says immediately. "I should've guessed. I saw you already met them out there. Surely, they must be slurring about now, they've drunk so much," Steve motions to the group.

"They're a nice bunch but I wouldn't want to be paying for the tab," Isabel observes. Steve sighs as he remembers the large debt he'll undoubtedly have. "They seem… interesting."

"They're interesting, alright," Bucky laughs. "You want a drink, doll? Anything you want."

Isabel orders and Steve moves to a seat further down, giving Isabel his chair. She sits carefully, accepting her drink from the bartender. Leaning behind her, Bucky gives Steve a thumbs up for his chivalrous move. Steve glares again.

"What do you reckon the boys would think about a woman joining their entourage?" Isabel asks offhandedly, stirring at her drink before sipping from the straw.

"Who's joining?" Steve asks carefully. Surely if Peggy were planning on working with them, she would have straight out asked and not gone through Isabel.

"Me," Isabel says simply. "I know you already have a medic, but it wouldn't hurt to have two. What if Morita gets injured? Who'll look after him?"

"No," Steve and Bucky say at the same time, a little louder than necessary. "That's out of the question," Steve adds immediately after, shaking his head. "No."

"You already dragged me to the front, Steve," Isabel argues.

"Being in the relative safety of the camp or the base is a little different to being out in enemy territory. I couldn't stand to see you hurt because you followed us into war."

"But I want to help," Isabel says stubbornly, a frown forming on her face. She glares at Steve, though she knows it's a losing battle.

"You can be just as much help from the base alongside Peggy and Stark. When we come back from a mission, we'll surely have some injuries; you can help us then. Besides, you're already doing your fair share in helping the war effort by working with Stark to replicate the serum. I won't risk it, I'm sorry. War isn't a place for anyone, and I'm not going to let you follow me and get injured or killed."

"You'll let me go, though," Bucky says casually, taking another sip.

"Buck, you don't have to feel obligated to come–" Steve starts, but Bucky starts laughing, cutting him off.

"I'm joking, knucklehead. Gee, that serum didn't give you any extra brain cells. But he's right, Issy. It's too dangerous," Bucky says, turning serious.

"I'm sorry, Belle," Steve adds, putting a comforting arm around her waist. He knows how it feels to be left out of things, to be rejected –he's experienced it all his life. He feels guilty for doing this to a friend when he knows all too well how it affects someone, but he also can't bring himself to put her in danger.

Isabel shrugs, obviously knowing that was the answer she'd get, smiling reassuringly at Steve.

The singing in the other room dulls once again, and Bucky and Steve lean around the doorway, spotting Peggy Carter coming toward them, wearing a plunging red dress. She draws attention the whole way through the bar, as well as a few catcalls and wolf whistles that surely are unappreciated by the dashing agent. Eventually she comes to a stop in front of Steve and Bucky, who stand politely to welcome her as they had with Isabel.

"Captain," Peggy says formally.

"Agent Carter."

Bucky, unsubtle as ever, looks Peggy up and down, getting a view of her backside in the tight-fitting piece of clothing. She turns to smile at him then and his eyes quickly jump up to meet hers. "Ma'am," he greets, wearing a confident smirk.

"Peggy," Isabel greets happily.

Seeing the agent is a welcome relief from all the testosterone and Isabel climbs off her stool to stand politely before her. Peggy surprises her by pulling her into a warm hug, something unexpected of the usually cool and calculated woman.

"I knew that dress would look perfect on you," Peggy smiles, admiring Isabel in it. "Keep it, it looks better on you."

"What? Are you sure?" Peggy nods her reassurance, making Isabel smile even wider. "Why are you all dressed up? You look stunning," Isabel asks, admiring Peggy's own daring dress, something Isabel would lack the confidence to wear, let alone have the money to afford.

"Howard took me out to dinner," Peggy explains. "I think he quite likes to flaunt his wealth. We also went for fondue." Steve's eyebrows rise almost into his skyline, and Peggy stares at him in confusion, not expecting the response. "Uh Captain, Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good," Steve manages with a nod, recovering from his blush.

"I see your top squad is prepping for duty," Peggy notes, smiling at the singing men at the table, their beer spilling everywhere in their dancing hands.

"You don't like music?" Bucky asks.

"I do, actually," Peggy says, her eyes finding Bucky's. She smirks at him, a dangerousness in her eyes that makes Bucky breathless. "I might even, when this is all over, go dancing."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bucky asks flirtatiously, stepping closer to the dazzling Agent. He looks at her admiringly and lustfully. "We can kick up helium on the dance floor, let loose for the night?"

Peggy pretends to think about it, visibly eyeing Bucky up and down, his uniform screaming that he defies the rules since he wears it sloppily with the tie undone and the buttons hastily fastened. "As tempting an offer that is, Sergeant Barnes, I think I'll wait for a better choice in song," Peggy decides, flashing a flirty smile at Bucky. "0800, Captain," she says, as she turns and walks away toward the exit.

Isabel and Steve watch the exchange with open mouths, the attraction and flirtation seemingly developing out of nowhere. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there," Steve slowly calls after her, his eyes flicking between the two like a tennis match.

Bucky watches the agent leave with a frown. "Did she just reject me?" Bucky asks, turning back to his friends. "I swear we had a connection, and then she just…" Bucky trails off, his hands miming walking toward the exit.

"She didn't reject you, Buck. She's playing hard to get," Isabel reassures, staring after her friend in admiration of her strength, the eyes of all the men following her once again.

"I'm invisible. I'm… I'm turning into you. It's like some horrible dream," Bucky tells Steve with a laugh, both joking and serious.

"Don't take it so hard," Steve says, patting Bucky on the shoulder. "Maybe she's got a friend."

"The great Bucky Barnes, eternal womanizer, can't stand a game of tag," Isabel laughs.

"Never liked those childish games," Bucky says, picking up his beer. "I see what I want, I get it."

Isabel shakes her head at her brother, who smirks at them and walks away to go converse with his new team, taking his beer with him. The rejection doesn't seem to get him down for long. No doubt, he's planning out all the ways he could sweep Agent Carter off her heel-clad feet.

Bucky leaves Isabel and Steve at the bar, sitting on their stools. Steve's on his sixth pint of beer and he isn't even feeling a buzz.

"Bucky's got moxie," Isabel notes, turning back to Steve. "Flirting with Peggy Carter."

"He only asked her to dance," Steve laughs.

"No, Steve. Didn't you see the way they looked at each other?"

"Yeah, like they wanted to eat each other," Steve laughs.

"Hmm, possibly," Isabel says quietly, picking up the sexual connotation Steve inherently missed. "That's called lust. It comes with flirting."

"I know that," Steve says stubbornly, as though Isabel had been speaking to a child. "But it isn't love."

"Well no, but they don't know each other. You can only love someone you know. That love at first sight thing, it isn't even possible. I mean, I think people could be destined to be together, but it is never love at first sight, they have to get to know each other first. How can you love someone when you only know what they look like, when you don't know what's on the inside yet?"

"I suppose you can't," Steve says quietly, avoiding Isabel's eyes.

"One dance – that isn't love. That's just a bit of flirting. It's when you dance over and over, one dance after the next. When you keep going back to the same partner every time because you can't imagine dancing with anyone else. Next thing you know, you're so used to being close to one another and you've fallen so far in love that you can never pick yourself back up," Isabel says quietly.

Steve just stares at her, an underlying message to her words sinking in. She finally looks up at him to gauge his reaction, her eyes wary, but truthful.

Steve feels a rush of courage surge through him. "Why don't we go dancing? When the war's over?"

Isabel looks taken aback by Steve's confidence, stammering a bit for words. "Why don't we right now?" She counters, her eyes flicking to the couples dancing over in the corner, makeshift dance floor.

"I still don't know how," Steve admits sadly.

"I've offered to teach you many times," Isabel reminds him.

"I know. I want to. But I'd like to watch the others first, see how it's done. I'd rather not learn in front of everyone."

Isabel watches him for a moment. Whether he means he literally doesn't want to learn to dance in front of everyone at the Stork Club, or whether he means in his entire time as Captain America in the spotlight during the war, Isabel doesn't know. He had asked her to dance after the war. She decides to focus on that.

After a second Isabel nods, though she looks slightly dejected. "Fair enough." She takes a long, final swig of her drink, putting the empty glass back down on the counter with a clink.

The two sit on the stools and watch the couples, the way they intimately sway back and forth to the rhythm, the way the men throw the women into spins and twirls and dips. Isabel notes a predatorial hunger that seems to lurk in the men's expressions, a lust to protect the women they've snatched up. She looks to Steve then, realizing he's always held that same hungry, protective expression in regard to her, she'd just never noticed it.

"I always hoped I'd find the right partner," Isabel says with a content smile, flicking her eyes back to the dancers.

Steve looks at her at that, and she can see him out the corner of her eyes staring at her in amazement. She eventually makes eye contact, catching him out, and he blushes profusely, dipping his head as he smiles to himself. He eventually meets her eyes again, and this time she smiles back at him, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.


	30. Chapter 29

**29.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **November 20th, 1943**

"Miss Barnes, if you have a minute would you be of assistance? I have something to show you," Howard asks politely from the doorway to Isabel, whom he finds sitting in the mess hall for an early morning breakfast with the members of Steve's new team. They're yet to come up with a name, which they're currently debating over.

"Sure," Isabel says, leaving the rest of her breakfast for the other men. "See you fellas later."

Isabel follows Howard through the base to his laboratory. "Rogers will be here soon to check out the prototype weaponry, but while we have a few minutes, I wanted you to see this," he explains, leading her into a room with a glass chamber in the middle. "I've been examining the Hydra cartridge. Put these on."

Howard hands Isabel a lab coat and a pair of safety glasses, which she hastily throws on. "Why do you want me to see? I don't know anything about this stuff."

"Yes, you do," Howard counters. "Your brother told you what he saw these weapons do."

"All he said was that the blue lightning shot out of Hydra's guns and canons and that it disintegrated people into thin air."

"I guess the question is where does it disintegrate them to?" Howard says cryptically.

"What do you mean? I just assumed it turned people into ash and then they float away on the wind," Isabel replies, thoroughly confused.

"This is Hydra we're talking about," Howard reminds her. "And I think your theory may be incorrect."

"Well there's a reason why you're the scientist," Isabel laughs.

"Let's see if this is the same material," Howard says, putting his hands into two gloves that reach inside the glass chamber. "I need you to write down what I say in that book on the counter. Don't worry too much about spelling, I just don't want to forget anything important."

Isabel picks up the book and a pencil, flicking to a blank page. _Hydra cartridge, 11-20-43,_ she scrawls at the top.

Stark moves the gloves around, using intricate tools to pick apart the cartridge carefully. He removes a front section, then holds various machinery up to it, measuring certain levels. "Emission signature is unusual. Alpha and beta ray neutral, though I doubt Rogers picked up on that. Seems harmless enough. Hard to see what all the fuss is about. Though, that's only until you realise exactly what this stuff is derived from."

"What is it derived from?"

"It's an extract of cosmic energy from the Tesseract that Schmidt got his hands on from Tønsberg back in 1942. He's been using its energy to power and enhance his weaponry," Howard explains, removing another section of the metal casing very carefully.

"Tesser- what?"

"Tesseract," Stark corrects. "It's a stone from Norse Mythology. Schmidt has it in his possession."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. It's from an ancient story?" Isabel asks, confused.

Howard removes his hands from the gloves, coming closer to Isabel in order to explain the background of the mysterious Tesseract. "That's what we thought. Turns out those tales may actually be more fact than fiction. Hydra seems to have a fascination with mythologies, hence their name. The whole Hydra "cut off one head and two more shall take its place" motto is based off of the story of the Hydra monster."

"I knew that, but they got it wrong," Isabel tells him. "If they're going to identify with mythology, they'd better brush up on their understanding. A Hydra is a serpent-like monster with one tail and multiple heads. Hydra's icon is an octopus? One head, many legs. They couldn't have gotten it more wrong."

Howard laughs. "It goes a bit further than that. It's highly symbolic. The head is a skull, symbolising the Nazi party which Hydra began as a division of. Considering Schmidt became an actual "Red Skull" seems a case of becoming on the outside what he already was on the inside, just like what Erskine warned Rogers about. It's emblematic if you think of it like that, evil shining through. As for the tentacles, it represents their far-reaching influence with a sinister overtone. They're a nefarious and corrupt organisation and they have a reach that we can't even measure as yet. The tentacles are their modern "heads", a compartmental structure, there's always backup for them somewhere." Howard stops, seeing the expression on Isabel's face. "It's pretty out there stuff, but it's also pretty smart."

Isabel hums in agreement. "Well when you think of it like that…" Isabel trails off, just a bit impressed by Hydra's reasoning. She stomps on that thought very quickly.

"Anyway, back to this beauty," Howard says, gesturing to the cartridge. "It took a bit of digging to get started, since I didn't know what mythology they were using. Hydra pulls stories from all sorts of ancient civilisations, not just Greek or Roman or Egyptian. Once I found the civilisation, I found the myth easily, since it's a major portion of Norse mythology, along with their gods. The myth states that there are six 'Infinity Stones' with unlimited power that predate the universe and that the Tesseract is one of them. The Tesseract itself isn't the stone, but a containment vessel for it to protect it from damage. The stone is supposed to represent the fabric of space. The gods in Norse mythology use it to open gateways to any other part of the universe and provide inter-dimensional travel. If it's true, which is debatable, we are assuming that Schmidt doesn't know how to do this, since neither do we, but he has invented a way to harness its unlimited power. I have to give him credit, it's rather amazing."

"So it may disintegrate them to another dimension?" Isabel guesses. "Or it may just... blow them up?"

"Exactly."

"It sounds whacky," Isabel notes. "All of it. I- are you sure Schmidt isn't cutting out paper dolls? Norse mythology is real?" Isabel asks sceptically.

"Your awfully sceptical for someone who watched their friend go into a pod and emerge as a super-soldier," Howard remarks, raising an eyebrow at Isabel.

"Point taken, nothing makes sense anymore and everything is possible," Isabel agrees with widened eyes. She looks carefully at the vial again. "Are you sure it's that powerful? It doesn't seem so dangerous."

"That's what you'd think," Stark mutters.

He puts his hands back into the machine and moves the robotic hands. When he makes contact with the glowing blue pellet, a blast explodes through the glass chamber, sending glass shards everywhere and throwing Stark and Isabel backward into the brick wall behind them. Isabel hits it hard and slumps onto the floor, but her mind isn't focused on the pain. She stares in shock at the cartridge, still standing on the table in the shattered glass chamber, the robotic hands gone.

Stark sits up, removing his safety glasses. "We'll write that down."

"It exploded the hands," Isabel gasps, pointing in awe toward the chamber, her jaw still slack.

"Just as I thought, it's energy drawn from the Tesseract, definitely. The energy disintegrated them. It leaves no trace of what was there. It's like it sends things to a different dimension. Maybe Schmidt accidentally harnessed the true inter-dimensional power of the Tesseract after all," Howard mutters.

Both of them stare at the vial. "If that little bit of liquid can do that much damage, what can the actual stone do?" Isabel asks.

"I hate to think."

* * *

Steve walks around the underground base, looking for any sign of the genius billionaire who's awaiting his arrival. He left the mess hall and got down to the base five minutes earlier than Agent Carter had instructed last night, though he can't find Stark. He went first to Stark's lab, only finding half of it blown to smithereens, and decided not to ask questions. Isabel is no where to be seen either, considering she went off with Stark over thirty minutes prior. Steve wonders whether they've gone to speak to someone in particular.

Steve leaves Stark's mangled lab, spotting a woman sitting at one of the desks outside the labs. She's one of Stark's receptionists, the name plaque on her desk referring to her as Private Lorraine.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Stark," Steve says politely, loitering by the doors.

"He's quickly had to speak to Colonel Phillips about a breakthrough with his data," the woman says in a bored tone. She looks up from where she's shaping her finger nails with a nail file, her eyes widening when she sees she's talking to Captain America. "Of course, you're quite welcome to wait," she assures quickly, sickly sweet.

Steve nods and awkwardly perches on the edge of a nearby desk, tapping his finger against his leg as he waits.

"I read about what you did," Lorraine says, holding up the morning's newspaper showing the details of his rescue mission of the one-oh-seventh.

"Oh! The… yeah. Well, that's, you know? Just doin' what needed to be done," Steve stammers, smiling awkwardly at her.

"Sounded like more than that. You saved nearly four hundred men."

"Really, it's not a big deal," Steve waves her off, looking uncomfortable. He checks around the wall of bookcases to see if Stark will arrive anytime soon to save him.

"Tell that to their wives," Lorraine mutters.

She gets up from her desk and walks toward Steve slowly, in a purposeful prowl that makes Steve shift and gulp nervously. He wishes she'd stay at her desk.

"Uh… I don't think they were all married," Steve tries to divert conversation from the situation, leaning away from her as she corners him on the desk.

"You're a hero," Lorraine tells him sincerely, raising her eyebrows to emphasise the point.

"Well, that… you know? That… that depends on the definition of it really," Steve stammers, looking away and scratching his forehead as he searches for a way to reject Lorraine's obvious advances.

She suddenly grabs hold of his tie before he can think to protest, dragging him backward into the office behind a bookcase that blocks them from view of the rest of the open base. "The women of America, they owe you their thanks. And seeing as they're not here…"

Lorraine pulls him in for an unwanted kiss just as Isabel and Peggy round the corner. They've both been in the meeting with Colonel Phillips about the information they gained from the cartridge, and Stark has now sent them to collect Steve and bring him to another lab they'll be using, since Stark blew up his usual abode. The two women come around the bookcase, confronted with the sight of Steve and Private Lorraine locking lips in the darkness of the temporary office. Isabel's jaw drops at the sight, anger and sadness flickering across her features before she's storming away from the office. As soon as she turns around, Steve brings his arms up to push Private Lorraine off of him, having been shocked at her actions and frozen to the spot.

"What are you doing?" Steve hisses, stepping away from the woman and wiping his mouth, frowning ferociously at her.

Peggy glares at Lorraine, who looks entirely unapologetic of her actions, before she looks down the hall toward Isabel's retreating form, seeing her brush her hand over her eyes. Isabel had only come back to their room last night telling Peggy that she and Steve had talked about going dancing and that they'd found the right partner in each other. She'd been so excited and infatuated, and now Steve is going to throw it away by allowing another woman to make advances on him. Peggy turns a sour look on Steve, putting her hands on her hips.

Steve starts to stutter, stepping further away from the blonde woman until he bumps into the desk he'd perched on earlier. "I-I have a girlf–"

"Captain!" Peggy barks, making the two jolt further away from each other in surprise, Steve's body making the desk slam loudly up against the wall. "We're ready for you, if you're not otherwise occupied," Peggy says sourly, frowning dangerously at Private Lorraine, who cowers away slightly.

Annoyed, Peggy turns and walks ahead, Steve running to catch up to her.

"Agent Carter, wait!" Steve pleads, following her down the hallway.

"Looks like finding a partner wasn't that hard after all," Peggy says evenly, keeping her expression neutral.

"Peggy, that's not what you thought it was," Steve argues, tucking his tie back into his jacket after Lorraine pulled it part way out and skewed it.

"I don't think anything, Captain. Not one thing. You'll have to do a bit more explaining to Miss Barnes, though," Peggy replies. She decides to only hint to Steve that Isabel had seen the encounter, allowing her friend the dignity of confronting him herself if she choses to. She sees Steve's face fall over her shoulder, his shoulders slumping, and she knows that he's realised he's truly in for it now. "You always wanted to be a soldier and now you are. Just like all the rest," Peggy adds bitterly.

"Well, what about you and Stark?" Steve counters, defensively. "You can't say anything when you two are… fonduing, but you'll still flirt with Buck."

Peggy stops and turns around, just looking at Steve. He looks both proud and a little unsure of his retort, waiting patiently for her answer. Peggy rolls her eyes, walking away.

"You still don't know a bloody thing about women," she mutters, escaping the room and leaving Steve standing alone.

Steve runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment and stress. He looks around for sight of Isabel, but doesn't see her anywhere. Just as he's about to walk toward the elevator to go find her and skip his meeting with Stark, Howard appears from the lab. He beckons Steve inside, having heard their conversation.

"Rogers, you need some serious education," Stark laughs, ushering Steve inside.

"Why?" Steve asks defensively.

"Fondue is just cheese and bread, my friend."

"Really?" Steve asks, his eyebrows rising. "I didn't think…"

"Nor should you, pal. The moment you think you know what's goin' on in a woman's head is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked." Stark stops walking and turns back to Steve. "Isabel was supposed to be here too, since she's been helping me with designing these things while you soldiers are busy planning your missions; but I saw her run from the base, so I assume she's not coming. I also assume you and Agent Carter's conversation had something to do with that. Whatever you did pal, whether it was your fault or not, you'd better apologise. That's how it works with women. The sooner you work that out, the better off you'll be."

Steve just nods, looking ashamed. Howard doesn't push.

"Me, I only have time for the occasional woman. Instead, I concentrate on my work. Which at the moment, is about making sure you and your men do not get killed." Howard jumps right into his plan for their meeting. "Carbon polymer," Stark says in a rush, referring to a piece of cloth lying on one of the tables. "Should withstand your average German bayonet, although, Hydra's not going to attack you with a pocket knife."

Steve pushes the previous incident from his mind for the moment and makes himself concentrate. What Howard informs him about how the weapons work could be the difference between life and death for him and the men.

Howard keeps walking down the table, where the next item is Steve's battered prop shield that he took to find the one-oh-seventh. "I hear you're uh… kind of attached?" He asks, patting the metal with a clang.

"It's handier than you might think," Steve says, smiling at it reminiscently.

"Good. I took the liberty of coming up with some options for a new shield," Howard says, showing Steve a range of shields he's designed, all of them odd shapes with added accessories and very heavy-looking, not that it would be a problem for a super-soldier. Stark picks one up to show off, a thick rectangular shaped shield with a glass panel for looking through. "This one's fun. She's been fitted with electrical relays. It'll allow you to–"

Steve spots a circular, shiny shield on a shelf hidden below, sliding out of the shelf and holding it up carefully. "What about this one?" He asks, cutting off Howard's explanation.

"No! No! That's just a prototype," Howard says quickly, putting down the shield he holds.

"What's it made of?" Steve asks in awe, holding the circular shield experimentally.

"Vibranium," Stark says, watching Steve carefully. Steve flips the shield in his hands, the metal making a whirring sound. "It's stronger than steel and a third of the weight. It's completely vibration absorbent."

Steve threads his arm through the leather straps, testing the weight of it on his arms. "Who designed it? It's easy to wield."

"Isabel, actually."

"Isabel?" Steve asks, his jaw dropping open.

"Yeah, pal. Not that she meant to. She doodled the basic design in one of Erskine's diaries while you were on the USO Tour. Must have seen you with the fake shield and thought she could one up Brandt on the design front. I saw it when we were looking through the notes and decided to give it a shot. We came up with the size of it based off the measurements taken of you after the experiment. It should fit perfectly in your hands and in a holster on your back for when you need your hands free. Of course, she didn't intend it to be made of vibranium, I was the one who chose the metal alloy and then made it."

Steve stares at the shield, unable to imagine Isabel sitting in one of the auditorium chairs drawing a shield for Steve. "How come it's not standard issue?" He runs a finger over the rim of the shield.

"That's the rarest metal on earth. What you're holding there? That's all we've got."

Seconds later, they hear heels clicking on the concrete floor and Peggy Carter makes a grand entrance into the laboratories. "Are you quite finished, Mister Stark? I'm sure the Captain has some unfinished business," Peggy says evenly, glaring at Steve.

Steve holds the vibranium shield up against him. "What do you think? Isabel designed it," he asks proudly, seemingly forgetting their conversation only a few minutes ago.

Peggy stares at him with hard eyes before picking up a gun from one of the tables and shooting at Steve. He quickly holds up the shield to protect himself, four bullets hitting the metal, leaving small dents in the clear paint layer. Steve slowly pulls the shield down, staring in fear at Peggy from the behind it's offered protection.

Peggy sighs, then smiles brightly. "Yes, I think it works. Isabel is rather special, isn't she?" She puts the gun down and leaves the lab past Steve, glaring at him again in warning.

Howard comes to stand beside Steve, who lowers the shield, staring stunned at Peggy's retreating form. Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to Stark. "I had some ideas about the uniform."

"Whatever you want, pal."

* * *

No one sees Isabel for the remainder of the day. She hasn't been seen in the infirmary or the laboratories, or in the basement at all, for that matter. Peggy doesn't let herself worry for her friend, knowing the girl can take care of herself. She had no work commitments today beside her meeting with Howard that morning, though she'd missed that.

Peggy goes up to her room late that night, long after dinner and everyone else seems to have evacuated the base. She's exhausted, but she's also fully expecting that Isabel will be in their room waiting to talk about what happened that morning.

Peggy steps into the elevator and presses the button for her floor, the doors sliding closed in front of her. She looks up just in time to see a large hand slam into the small gap between the doors as they close, attempting to stop the elevator car so that the person can step inside. The doors close fully on the hand and there's a male shout, before the doors register the presence and slide open again, freeing the hand. A panicked-looking Steve Rogers squeezes himself inside the elevator car, holding his squashed hand.

"Captain," Peggy greets with amusement, cocking her mouth in a small smile.

"That probably wasn't my best idea," Steve mulls, holding his hand. "Agent Carter."

"What brings you into this particular elevator car so hurriedly this evening?" Peggy asks, unable to keep the smile off her features.

"I was hoping you could tell me where Isabel is? I've been meaning to look for her all day but I couldn't get a minute free until now."

Peggy looks at Steve will sympathy. "I haven't seen her, but I'm guessing she's in our room. She was quite upset about what happened this morning."

Steve sighs loudly and runs a hand through his blonde hair, making it stick up. "I need to talk to her."

"Well it's much too late now, she might be asleep," Peggy argues. "But yes, you probably do."

"I need to tell her what happened, that I didn't initiate that, that I pushed Lorraine away–" Steve stumbles over his words, looking more stressed by the second. Peggy feels a little bad for him, frowning in thought on how to deal with the situation.

"Now probably isn't the time, Steve," Peggy tells him. She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Give her until tomorrow or so to calm down. She's probably disappointed. If she's awake, I'll talk to her tonight so that when you see her, she's on the same page and knows what happened."

"Thank you, Peggy," Steve says sincerely, smiling at his friend.

The doors to the elevator open at Peggy's floor and she steps out, leaving Steve inside. "Try not to worry, Steve. She'll be fine. But in the meantime, I suggest you have a chat to Barnes about dealing with women. I feel you could use a few pointers."

The doors close again, hiding Steve's gobsmacked expression. Peggy smirks at her retort before making her way to her room and opening the door. She finds Isabel sitting on her bed with a mountain of books around her, Erskine's notes by the looks of them. She's writing in a newer-looking book, most likely one of her own notes. Her eyes flick up when Peggy comes inside and she starts packing away her books into her trunk.

"Hello, Isabel," Peggy greets.

"Hello," Isabel replies quietly, her voice a little dejected.

"Where were you today? You've been missing in action," Peggy notes, taking off her shoes by the door, sighing in relief from the pain of wearing heels for hours on end.

"I've been hauled up here all day," Isabel admits. "Working on the notes."

"Or sulking?"

"I'm not sulking," Isabel defends, looking up from her books.

"Okay," Peggy agrees, holding up her palms defensively. The Brit slowly comes around and takes a seat beside Isabel on her bed where she's been hiding for a few hours. "Steve's been looking for you all day. He wants to talk to you."

"Well I don't want to talk to him," Isabel says stubbornly, feeling a little childish.

"I think you two have lots you need to get out into the open."

"It'll just have to wait then," Isabel retorts.

"Would you be willing to talk to me? There's some things I need to tell you."

Isabel hesitates. "Depends on what it is."

"Why are you so angry at Steve?" Peggy asks immediately.

"He kissed Lorraine, Peggy," Isabel replies quietly, raising her eyebrows at Peggy as though she'd missed the memo.

"Actually, Lorraine kissed him. There's a difference, a big difference," Peggy tells Isabel.

"But he didn't even push her off. He wanted her to kiss him, obviously. Everything we said last night, everything we've done together the last few months, even _years_ … Did it all mean nothing? Did–"

Peggy quickly puts a hand on Isabel's arm and silences her. "Isabel Barnes, you need to get a hold of yourself. You locked yourself up here all day ignoring everyone and sulking, but you are assuming things and you don't know the full story. I think you're even blatantly disregarding who Steve _is._ "

"No I'm n–"

"Yes, you are. You're upset and you're not thinking straight," Peggy interrupts, sitting a little taller on the bed to assert her dominance. "Listen to me. Steve, would he ever just kiss a dame? Just 'cause?"

"No," Isabel says. "That was usually more Buck's domain."

"Exactly. So he didn't kiss Lorraine because he wanted to. And we've already established she kissed him. Now, has Steve had a lot of attention from the fairer sex?"

"Not really," Isabel admits.

"So how would he know to react when someone advances on him like that? First of all, isn't he going to be just a little bit amazed because he's never had that attention before? And how would he know how to deflect a woman? He's never done it, and I'm sure he's never seen Bucky reject a woman."

Isabel laughs at that. "I suppose you're right," she admits. "You say he pushed her off?"

"Not even a second after your departure. He pushed her away, wiped his mouth like she'd poisoned him, asked what she was doing and then was proceeding to tell her something else, presumably about you, before I cut him off," Peggy reassures her. "He really did nothing wrong."

Isabel sighs loudly, sinking back onto the bed. Peggy lays back too beside her, watching her friend carefully as Isabel runs a hand down her face. "I know. I overreacted. As soon as I got up to my room I regretted it, but I was too embarrassed to go back down. If I'd just stayed one second longer and not stormed off in a huff… I feel like a right crumb."

"Don't, you're only human. It's only natural you'd be upset seeing that. And don't be mad at him, Is. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah, I know they do," Isabel says quietly with a meaning behind her words. Peggy doesn't ask what she means. "I'm not mad at him. Well I am a little, but not for that. I think it's because I'm sour he didn't let me onto the team. I do understand why he said no to me joining, I do, but it just feels like I'm being denied what I want. I thought I accepted it and I was just going to get over it, but then I see that and I just… I was disappointed and I think I used this as an excuse to be angry at him for not letting me join the team."

"I understand about the team, I would most likely be sour as well. But you need to think of it from their point of view. Would you like it if you were putting Steve or Bucky in danger? Probably not. As for the kiss, it isn't Steve you need to be disappointed in. It's Lorraine. But don't worry about her. Her and I, we had a little chat."

"You didn't threaten her, did you?" Isabel asks with a small cringe.

"Of course not," Peggy laughs. "I just calmly reminded her that I knew people in higher places who I could convince to have her moved to a less savoury operations centre and that you wouldn't be happy to see her either. She promised to stay away."

Isabel laughs then, shimmying over to lay her head near Peggy's shoulder. "What would I do without you, Peg?"

"Not sure, love. I'm not even entirely certain how you made it this far without me."

"Mm," Isabel says, in somewhat agreement. She lets her eyes shut, and takes a deep breath. "Why'd I have to fall in love with such a dunce?"

"Don't be mean. But if he's a dunce, he's your dunce," Peggy laughs.

"Well, not really. Steve's not even mine, you know. We're not together. I don't have any say over what he does and who he talks to, or who he does or doesn't kiss."

"But you could," Peggy points out. "You could just tell him how you feel."

"I can't," Isabel argues. "I can't because if he doesn't feel the same way it might ruin the friendship we have. I couldn't let that happen. I'd rather just have him as a friend than risk losing him."

Peggy takes a deep sigh. No matter what she says, Isabel will never believe her that the feelings are so clearly reciprocated. _So_ clearly. And to her understanding, Sergeant Barnes has been working for a long time to get them both to see it to no avail. Peggy decides she'll just have to see how it all plays out, and if it doesn't seem to go anywhere, perhaps there's a way she can give them both the push that'll make Isabel or Steve see. Though, she thinks Bucky may be currently working on Steve.

Peggy nods to herself. She pats her friend's hand and sits up, going to her own bed. She quickly changes out of her uniform and into her nightgown, setting her hair so that it's ready for the next morning. She climbs into her bed under the covers, and Isabel still hasn't moved, fully dressed lying on top of her sheets.

"You can't ignore him or your feelings forever," is Peggy's final remark before she switches off the light on the nightstand and plunges the two into darkness.

Isabel doesn't offer her a reply, but Peggy assumes she's mulling it over well into the early hours of the morning.


	31. Chapter 30

**30.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **November 25th, 1943**

The press decides to call Captain America and his gang "The Howling Commandos", not one of the names any of them actually came up with, but a name that none of them decide to refute. The name is already posted in newspapers and magazines all around the world, so they figure it'd be a little harder to change it. Instead, they adopt it whole-heartedly, all of them sewing little patches somewhere on their uniforms, the symbol of the wings from Steve's helmet.

A few days after Steve is given his shield, now painted a sickly patriotic red, blue and white with a white star in the middle, the Howling Commandos embark on their first mission together. They're all ready by early morning making their way underground one by one. Peggy Carter, who looks beautiful despite the early rise, gives them the final rundown of the intel they've gained about the base, and then the Commandos split into two cars, driving to the makeshift runway on the outskirts of London. A small plane sits at the edge beside a tin-shed large enough to house it, Howard Stark already waiting in the cockpit, busy preparing the plane for take-off.

Peggy leads them from the road to the plane, Steve at her right, the other Commandos following behind. Isabel walks at the back of the group beside Bucky and Dugan, feeling a little sour that she isn't boarding the plane as well.

"Stark will drop you at the nearest camp, twelve miles southeast of the factory. There are going to be camera filming at the camp. Try to ignore them, just go about your planning and getting your weapons ready. But if they do get a shot of your face, at least try to smile for the camera."

"I'll give 'em my grandest smile, Agent Carter," Dugan tells her from the back of the group. "Don't you worry your pretty little face."

Peggy shoots Dugan a glare that slices straight through to his soul, making Isabel snicker when he takes a step away from her. Peggy takes a deep breath before continuing. "They're trying to keep the morale up for the people on the home front. People just want to see Captain America and his Howling Commandos going into action. After they cameras are gone, continue the mission. You'll have to make the trek yourselves. Get in, do your worst, and then get out. When you get back to the camp, use the transponder and Stark will come pick you up."

"Got it," Steve says, nodding to Peggy.

Everyone stops before the entrance to the plane's cabin, all of them looking to Cap and Agent Carter for an instruction. "Alright, soldiers. Good luck out there. Give them hell for all of us," Peggy says.

"Will do, ma'am," Falsworth promises.

Taking the cue to climb into the plane, Falsworth enters first, followed by Morita, Dernier, and Jones, who all mumble their farewell. They seem overly excited to be going back into a warzone, their faces lit up like boys at Christmas. As soon as they're inside, they all start admiring the guns and weapons Stark has upgraded for them.

"Be careful back in London, Barnes Junior. Don't get into any trouble," Dugan tells Isabel.

"I'm not the one embarking on a mission to take out a Hydra factory," Isabel retorts with a smile.

"Fair enough." Dugan takes his cue, tipping his bowler cat to the ladies as he climbs on board. "I still think we should be called the Invaders," they hear him mutter.

"Please be careful," Isabel pleads to her brother and Steve, both of them dressed in their newest uniforms. Bucky wears a thick, padded navy-blue jacket, a patch with the small wings from Steve's helmet design sewed onto the left shoulder. Steve, meanwhile, is wearing the Captain America uniform he and Howard designed, a mix of red, blue and white. "Don't get yourself shot or killed."

"Aw, look, Steve. She's worried about us," Bucky coos, pinching Isabel's cheek.

She glares back at him but doesn't bat his hand away. "I'm always worried about you two. Neither of you mentally aged past about twelve and both of you have personality traits that greatly require worry."

Bucky presses a hand to his chest looking affronted. "Hurt," he tells her, but smiles at her nonetheless. It isn't like they can truly deny it.

"We'll be fine. It's going to be a straightforward mission," Steve promises, giving Isabel a sideward hug.

"Nothing is straightforward in a war," Peggy warns. "Now get on the plane or you'll never make it to the factory in the first place."

Bucky and Steve climb aboard, Steve closing the outer door behind him, waving goodbye like an excitable puppy dog. The plane revs its engine and slowly starts off down the runway, gaining speed, until it lifts from the ground, rattling away through the air. Isabel and Peggy are left alone on the runway, the wind from the plane's engines whipping their hair around their faces.

"And then there were two," Isabel mutters. "Let the waiting game begin again."

* * *

 **?, Poland**

 **November 25th, 1943**

They start with a smaller Hydra factory, an armoury and weapons facility in Poland that is not heavily guarded but stores many of Hydra's weapons. It'll still be risky and hard work, but for their first mission when they're still getting used to one another, it will be enough.

The Commandos arrive at the Polish camp within two hours, Stark landing the plane on the outskirts of the camp and the men marching themselves in, the Captain and Sergeant at the front of the pack.

Once they enter the camp's boundaries, their identities are checked by a guard and then they're met by cameramen hefting around heavy cameras. Steve tries to ignore them, leading the Commandos through the muddy roads of the camp. They meet with the Commander, a gruff elderly man, who leads them further in to the main communications tent. Together they set out a large map on a table outside under the gloomy grey sky and Steve, Bucky and Falsworth plan out their exact route toward the armoury with Steve's compass. Steve points to the factory's position on the map, then draws a line along their planned trek. The cameramen point their heavy-looking equipment at them, watching them in action, while the rest of the Howling Commandos joke around behind them as they wait for instruction.

One of the cameramen approaches the rest of the Commandos, looking a little sheepish. "Ah, excuse me, sirs?"

"Yes? How can we help?" Falsworth says, ever the politest of the group.

"I was wondering if you'd like to use this?" The cameraman says, offering over a spare handheld video recorder. "To capture footage of your missions. It would certainly be interesting to have an exclusive insider view of what it's like to be a Howling Commando."

"I'm not so sure some parts of our missions would be the greatest for the morale of the people at home, but I'll give it a go, old chap," Falsworth says, taking the camera from the man and inspecting its functions before storing it away in his backpack.

The cameraman looks thrilled that his offer was taken up, passing over a stack of film before hurrying back to his post. His supervisor looks pleased also, smiling brightly over at the Howling Commandos. No doubt, the footage will fetch a pretty penny.

"Alright, we're ready," Steve eventually says.

Steve rolls up the map and hands it to Falsworth to put securely back in his pack. Steve turns back and quickly snaps his compass shut when he spots the camera aimed right at him, zoomed in the see the image inside.

The Commandos are allocated a small tent to wait in for a few hours before they start walking. They visit the mess hall and eat a hearty meal before returning to their flimsy tent to grab a few hours of rest. Steve stays up, running over the plan continuously in his head. The other men may be confident, but he definitely isn't. He's never been in battle before he broke Bucky out from Hydra, he's never strategised like this before. He's just so glad that the other Commandos have been pushing him along in the right direction and ensuring he doesn't make any epic blunders that could cause him to lose all credibility. Saving Bucky had no doubt been a fluke, but he has a feeling that he'll be relying heavily on flukes and luck to get by in his future endeavours, which doesn't put a lot of confidence in him. Steve swallows down the fear settling in his throat and forces his hands to stop shaking, watching the hours tick by on the watch on his wrist.

After night falls, the Commandos all awaken and make their way to their weapon's stash in their tent. They take a few minutes to prepare their weapons, hiding a handgun here and knife there, a stack of grenades in Dernier's pack. Steve clips his new shield onto the shoulder straps on his back. The men all fill up their canteens and receive their rations from the mess hall, and then they're ready.

They take off into the woods, the soldiers remaining in the camp seeing them off on their journey, the cameramen filming their descent into the dense forest despite the fact that it's pitch black. The film can't be very good.

The Commandos trudge for hours through the muddy landscape, pitch black apart from the small trickles of moonlight that shine through the thick canopy above. Steve keeps his eyes and ears peeled the entire journey, eerily aware of every snap of a twig, crunch of a boot, heavy breathing from the men behind him. His eyes flick around the forest in front of them, his vision better than the others'. He keeps his pistol in his hand, finger on the trigger in preparation.

"Ugh, this pack is so heavy I think I'm gonna shrink a whole foot by the end of this shit," Jones complains, hefting his pack higher onto his back.

"Why? What you got in there?" Dugan asks.

Jones thinks a moment, listing the supplies on his fingers. "Three-day supply of K-rations, chocolate bars, Charms candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my .45, two cartons of smokes, and the radio," Jones rattles off.

"What's your point? I got all that shit – minus the radio – plus a Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenade, Gammon grenade, TNT and a pair of nasty skivvies," Dugan retorts, shifting his own pack.

"And I got a medic kit as well," Morita adds. "This stuff weighs as much as I do! You just gotta get over it."

"Stop bucking for a section eight and get on with the job," Dugan tells Jones, hitting his shoulder.

"Alright, children, let's keep it down back there," Steve tells them jovially from the front of the charge, smiling at their banter. "We're nearing the factory."

Falsworth dutifully pulls out the film camera from his pack to film their arrival at the destination. The factory is hidden within a minuscule country town, with maybe four or five buildings in total. Steve imagines that when it had been lived in, the town would have been quite beautiful and blissful. Now, the town is confirmed to have been evacuated, lifeless, most of it destroyed by an earlier air raid. The buildings are nothing but rubble and ruin, the factory itself looking worse for wear. They can see why it was chosen – it's conspicuous.

A light fog has settled over the surrounding forests and the town's deserted, silent cobblestone streets, perfect for avoiding detection. They arrive at dawn and after scoping the area, slowly make their way down the hill, Steve at the front with his shield raised in protection. They encounter no one except a few grazing rabbits on the grassy hillside.

They make it to the front wooden doors of the factory, Steve listening carefully with his ear pressed to the door. He hears footsteps inside pacing up and down an inner hallway. He turns to Bucky and nods, making the movement of walking with his fingers and nodding his head to the doors. Bucky nods back, then to the men. It's certainly helpful and efficient, the way they can communicate through their nods and expressions. Outside of the situation, it would be almost comical.

On Steve's count, they burst through the main wooden doors of the factory, Steve at the front with his shield raised and the other Commandos to his sides. They fire their altered machine guns rapidly at the agents. There's five agents pacing the hallway they burst into, and they go down quickly with bullets to the head and gut. The Commandos advance down the hallway further into the small building, leaving Falsworth, his camera, and Morita by the main entrance on lookout. Falsworth had filmed their dramatic entrance to the factory and was not hurriedly shoving the camera back into his pack to keep watch.

Steve and the others at the front fire every now and then, taking down a lone guard with the one shot. Back at the entrance, they hear Falsworth and Morita fire in staggered succession as well.

The short hallway has a few locked doors leading off of them, presumably to office-like rooms. Bucky tries a few but some of them are locked. Those that aren't, Bucky and Dugan burst in and take out the few men inside, slumping down over their tables. It quietens after that, like they're the only ones left in the factory. They hear no more gunfire, no more footsteps, just an eerie silence.

Their footsteps echo quietly as they walk toward their main prize, the factory floor at the end of the sole hallway. It's the major component of the building, the high roofed ceilings standing over a mass of weaponry – stacked wooden crates of ammunition, assorted piles of machine guns, a few tanks, and a row of advanced motorcycles with flamethrowers on the front.

"Jackpot," Dugan mumbles, looking around in awe. "We gonna blow it up?"

Dernier says something excitedly in rapid French, and Jones translates. "We sure are."

Dernier and Jones huddle down in the hallway and Dernier digs in his pack, starting to piece together the explosive devices he's been carrying around. Steve doesn't stick around to watch, instead stepping further into the factory. He steps up to the motorcycles, running a hand over the handlebar and looking closely at the flame throwers on each side of the front wheel.

"Stark would want to know about some of these," he tells Bucky, but Bucky isn't listening, staring off to the other side of the factory.

Suddenly, they hear a mass of footsteps, and two small groups of Hydra soldiers appear from both sides of the factory, shooting rapidly at Steve and Bucky in the middle of the floor. Jones immediately shoots from his hiding spot in the corridor, giving Bucky and Steve the second of distraction they need to duck behind a bunch of crates. Bucky starting to fire back immediately, his bullets taking down members of the group at one side.

Steve throws the shield from his spot, the metal bouncing off the soldiers and sending them to the floor. It doesn't return to him like he's been practising, landing on the concrete with a smack well away from him. He sighs, takes out his pistol and runs to pick it up, shooting at the approaching men as he goes. He grabs the shield from the floor and threads his arm through the straps, using it to smack into the last few goons that rally around him, sending them flying into the walls while the rest fall to the floor, victim of a bullet.

The factory returns to silence and the Commandos slowly emerge from their hiding spots. Falsworth appears to film the area, sweeping across the factory floor, getting a shot of all of the weaponry, the dead soldiers on the floor, and of Steve and Bucky standing in the middle, Steve with his shield on his back. Steve listens, looking around the factory. He and Bucky go on a sweep, making sure there aren't any more soldiers hiding anywhere between the forest of machinery. They come back empty handed – apparently the men now lying dead on the floor were the last of the defence that had rallied together.

Dernier is setting up the explosives around the factory, sticking them to the walls and to the explosive crates. Dugan returns from wherever he went to, reporting that he found no intel in any of the offices off the main corridor, that they were all empty except one.

"There's nothing here bar the weaponry, Cap. It's an armoury and no more. Most likely for soldiers passing through," Dugan tells Steve, nodding to him before hurrying back to his post at the main doors.

"Alright. Send it to the ground, let's head out," Steve instructs.

Jones repeats the instruction to Dernier who looks morbidly excited. Dernier sets the timers and the men run from the factory, passing a few deceased bodies outside courtesy of Falsworth and Morita, and hurry back up to the tree line on the hill. They hunker down to watch, Monty recording once again, as the factory crumbles in an explosion of fire, escalated in size by the explosives within the building. Metal and brick rain down on the obliterated town, black smoke filling the air. They have to admit there's something dangerously beautiful about the scene.

"That was too easy," Bucky says warily, watching through the scope of his rifle in search of any sole Hydra members in the fields.

"Agreed," Dugan says, eyes scanning the ruined buildings.

"Carter said that was only a small weapons facility where Hydra soldiers in the area come to trade weapons. It wasn't overly important," Falsworth says.

"True."

"Just think, all of Hydra that wasn't here? We'll meet them somewhere else along the line. Means there's more people left for us to shoot," Jones supplies, a smile playing on his dark features.

"Sounds like fun," Dugan notes, a broad smile beneath his moustache.

Steve shakes his head at them before leading them away from the scene back into the dense forest. They've got a long trek back.

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **December 1st, 1943**

Back in London, Peggy and Isabel settle into their assigned seats beside Colonel Phillips in a nearby picture theatre. The SSR, as well as valuable members of the allied forces, have been summoned to the theatre to watch a compilation of video surrounding the journey of Captain America and the Howling Commandos so far. Isabel doesn't really see how much there could be to see since their first mission hasn't even been completed, but she doesn't protest when Peggy tells her it's for propaganda purposes.

The talk of the crowd dulls along with the lights, the curtain across the front of the auditorium pulling away to the sides to reveal the blank screen. The screen counts down to the film, large black crackling numbers, before it bursts to life with shaky black and white footage and archived images. A man with an excitable commentator voice narrates the film, discussing the life of Steve and his journey from puny Brooklyn kid to the great Captain America. Isabel watches, giving Peggy a look that the information should be taken with a pinch of salt.

It starts with a few images and videos of Steve before the serum, mainly at basic training in Camp Lehigh, though there is one of Steve as a teenager, though Isabel has no idea how they got that photo. Perhaps Steve gave it to them. Some of the men laugh as Steve attempts a jumping jack, looking as though he may collapse with an asthma attack. Then, he's running at the back of the pack around the camp perimeter, his legs barely able to propel him forward.

Isabel finds herself smiling fondly at the moving pictures, at the Steve she used to know. She knows he still is the same person, except his outward appearance much better suits his intense personality now. It's just nice to see the man she grew up alongside and used to know. In a way she misses him, but she wouldn't trade Steve's newfound health and happiness for her own reminiscent longing.

The screen goes black and is replaced with footage of Steve emerging from the experiment chamber. Isabel doesn't remember a cameraman being there, but they clearly were. Steve steps out with help from Erskine and Stark, looking around in awe. Isabel blushes in embarrassment at the sight of herself onscreen looking awed by Steve's new physique. Onscreen her reaches her hand out to him, just touching his chest for a second before pulling away, and she laughs at the awkwardness of it all. Steve doesn't seem phased at all.

Next, there's some footage of Steve's USO Tour, of Steve performing on stage. It shows his speech and the girl's dancing and Steve punching Hitler over and over, and Isabel wants to cringe because she's seen the show so many times now it's permanently ingrained in her memory. She knows that song will be stuck in her head forever now. Next, Steve's on the movie sets with other actors dressed as American soldiers, looking extremely serious as he uses the hand gestures to allow them forward or tell them to halt.

Then, it flicks to Steve returning from the Hydra factory with the remainder of the one-oh-seventh behind him, the sea of soldiers parting to allow them entrance. The Biblical reference – of Moses parting the Red Sea to free the slaves - can't be missed, and Isabel swallows down the lump in her throat. It has a few images of Steve underground in the SSR base, of the shield being painted in the patriotic colours, and of the final cut of Steve's uniform, hanging in Stark's lab on its hangar, waiting to be worn.

The screen finally settles on a moving picture of the Commandos only a few days ago at the Polish camp before they embarked on their first mission. The camera pans across the smiling black and white faces of Dernier, Falsworth, Jones and Morita, standing back against a tank and laughing with one another. It passes Dugan, who watches something with intense concentration. Finally, the camera stops on Steve and Bucky, leaning over a map and working out their route to the factory. Steve's concentrating on drawing the line of their route whilst Bucky frowns, obviously uncomfortable by the presence of the press despite his usually confident persona.

Steve consults Bucky about something and Bucky agrees. Steve opens his father's compass and addresses it, the dial flicking to face North. The camera zooms in on it, and Isabel gasps when she sees a small picture of herself in the glass pane of the top half. She recognises it from when they'd moved into their apartment when Steve had used his camera to take pictures of them. You'd think it was a professional photo, Isabel dressed up, the focus just right. She's smiling brightly, her lips darkened by the red lipstick she'd worn, her hair falling over her shoulder. She looks happy, excited, comfortable. Right now, she feels so embarrassed, sinking a bit into her seat.

Isabel looks to her right where Peggy is smiling knowingly at her and Phillips is giving her a sideways glance. Isabel looks away quickly, her cheeks blushing.

Suddenly, film-Steve snaps the compass shut and the camera flicks up to his face. Steve is glaring at the cameraman for the invasion of his privacy, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. He says something, but the clip is without sound, and then he leads the Commandos away from the area past the camera.

The final scene is off the men disappearing from the camp, ready to trek through the forest toward the camp. They look confident as they walk, Steve's shield plain as day strapped to his back, fading into darkness as they disappear from the lights of the camp into the depths of war.

The screen goes blank and a cheer starts up, the men and women watching exhilarated by seeing the allies' new hope. Isabel claps along quietly, staring at the blank screen, unable to get the image of Steve's blush out of her head.

* * *

The next day, the Howling Commandos finally make it back to the London base. Most of them are uninjured and "just tired", heading up to their rooms to sleep the mission off. Steve is directed straight to Colonel Phillips' office to debrief about the mission, and after plans to visit Stark to tell him about the new weaponry they'd seen in the factory. He wants himself one of those flamethrower motorcycles despite never having ridden a bike before.

Bucky heads down to the small medical wing of the base where Isabel is helping out the only nurse on duty, washing up some medical equipment and sterilising it appropriately.

"Hey, Belle," Bucky says quietly from behind her, making her jump at the sink.

"Buck! You're back! How'd it go?" She asks hurriedly, coming over to greet him, wiping her soapy hands on her apron.

"Good, went off without a hitch. We also got some intel about their weapons."

"Is anyone injured?" Isabel asks.

"It's called wounded, Belle. "Injured" is when you fall out of a tree or something," Bucky tells her. "But now that you ask, only me," Bucky says with a chuckle, holding up his hand where the palm has a long cut along it, a few bits of bark still embedded into it. "Wasn't even when we were fighting or anything, I caught it on a branch on the way back to camp. Didn't want to bother Morita with it, he's as tired as the rest of us."

Isabel looks at Bucky carefully, remembering how he'd reacted to her medical supplies when he'd been saved from Hydra. "I'll fix it, come on," Isabel says, leading Bucky to one of the private medical rooms.

He sits on the bed as she shuts the door behind her, wheeling over a tray. She grabs his palm gently and slowly washes out the dirt and bark, leaving a deep red gash. She puts a disinfectant on it, then looks at it critically. "You might need a stitch or two, it's deeper at this end," she says, pointing toward his thumb.

"Eh, it'll heal in a few hours. You know, super-healing and all. Thanks, Zola. Just make sure it isn't infected. It was really only an excuse to come talk to you," Bucky shrugs. Nonetheless, Isabel gets out a needle and thread, carefully starting to place two stitches at one end of the cut. "What did you do while we were gone?"

"Worked in here. Helped Stark. Watched a propaganda movie at the theatre with Peggy and Phillips," Isabel says, distracting Bucky from the small metal pin piercing his skin.

"What about?"

"Steve. Captain America. And now, the Howling Commandos embarking on their first mission." She pauses, licks her lips. "I saw Steve's compass. What was that about?"

Bucky looks like he's been taken off-guard, his eyes widening a bit. "I really shouldn't say anything. That's for Steve to explain."

"Come on, Buck. Tell me," Isabel pushes, finishing the last stitch. She ties it off neatly, then hides the needle in a clean tissue. She wipes away any excess blood, and then gets out some bandages and starts wrapping up Bucky's hand.

Bucky sighs, but eventually relents. "Steve carries it with him for motivation."

"The picture of me or the compass?"

"Both. The compass gives him strength, knowing that his Dad and Sarah are with him and that he'll always know the way to go… To get back to you. Having a picture of you in there… well… Steve's been hooked on you for years, he's just never had the confidence to tell you."

"Really?" Isabel asks quietly, a smile climbing on her mouth even though her cheeks blush. "I… Years?"

"Don't tell me you never noticed?" Bucky huffs.

"Well, I… I don't know. No? I mean, lately he's been flirting a bit, I guess, but he never used to. I… Why hasn't he ever said anything?"

"Because he's Steve. He never thought he was good enough for you."

"That's not true."

"I know that, but he doesn't. When he was smaller and sickly, he didn't think he could give you the life you deserved. Now that he's Captain America he may not be sick anymore, but his life isn't exactly going to be any easier. It's going to be dangerous and busy and it's going to lack privacy. He doesn't think that's good for you either. The flirting though, well he's much more confident now in himself. It's not surprising," Bucky says carefully.

"I… I… Did you know?" Isabel is gobsmacked, her mouth hanging open.

"Of course, I knew. Steve tells me everything," Bucky says with a laugh. "He also made me promise not to tell you because he was afraid it would ruin the friendship you had. But I think it's pretty fair to say, and has been for quite a while, that it was safe to tell you all along because you felt the same…?"

"Wha– How? How did you know that I've always felt the same?"

"I'm not deaf and dumb. I could tell because it was so obvious, but it wasn't my place to _tell_ ," Bucky says, his voice exasperated. "I tried to set you two up so many times but you never got the damn hint. Steve was too stubborn, you were too shy, and quite frankly, you both were too stupid. No offence."

"Thanks," Isabel retorts, but she doesn't even have the heart to deny it because she knows it's true.

Isabel looks away, still wrapping Bucky's hand slowly, the bandage wrapping around probably more times than necessary. If what Bucky's saying is true, it does make a _lot_ of sense, why Bucky always made sure they were stuck as each other's dates when he was with Connie, why he made hints to her about liking Steve, all the flirting on the USO Tour that Isabel had brushed away, said it was friendly banter. Isabel was sweet on Steve way before any of that, but she's only just being told now that it has always been a mutual feeling.

Her and Steve liked each other way back in Brooklyn when Steve was sickly artist and she was a nurse. When he moved in with them, they were sweet on each other. All those times they went to the park, they were sweet on each other. All that time she was with Danny… They were sweet on each other. The thought, it makes her feel a little sick. That feeling in her stomach when she'd seen Steve kiss Lorraine, the jealousy and disappointment, she can't even imagine how bad that would have been for Steve seeing her with Danny. Then, ultimately when they'd broken up, it must have been bittersweet for Steve because once again he had a chance, but the girl he was sweet on was upset and he wouldn't have liked that either. When she thinks about what she's clearly done to Steve without knowing, she feels guilt pool in her stomach and she's got the mind to set it straight right away.

But now, Steve's different.

Isabel's face drops from hope to disappointment once again, her brows furrowing. "I waited too long. He'll think I'm only sweet on him now because he's Captain America."

"He won't think that," Bucky both disagrees and reassures. He grabs Isabel's chin gently and forces her eyes up to him, holding her gaze. "You look at Steve the same now as you did before he got the serum. You love him for what's on the inside, not the outside. He'll know that already, but it wouldn't hurt to tell him so. You and I aren't the only ones that know this is why you broke up with Danny."

Isabel stares at Bucky for a long time, searching for a flaw in his analysis. "You don't think it's awkward?" She finally asks, clipping the end of the bandages with scissors and securing them with a safety pin. "Your sister and your best friend sweet on each other?"

"No, it isn't. I've had plenty of time to get used to the idea," Bucky jokes. "But in all seriousness, I can't think of anyone in the world better to be with you than Steve. Before and after the serum. And I have no doubts that it extends the other way as well."

Isabel looks surprised, beginning to put away the medical kit as though in a daze, throwing the tissue-wrapped needle into a sharps bin. "Have you been persuading Steve to make a move? You're pretty sneaky, so I get the feeling you have."

"All along," Bucky admits. "Even back in Brooklyn, though I never outright told him what I thought about how you felt. Just a nudge here and there. I was hoping he would do the rest himself, but boy, is he thickheaded. Maybe I need to give him a bit more of a push."

"Do as you wish, every little hint would help," Isabel tells Bucky. "But I think I might be able to take the reins from here."


	32. Chapter 31

**31.**

 **London,** **United Kingdom**

 **December 3rd, 1943**

Steve finds Isabel on the roof of the building they're staying in, ten floors above the busy London streets and the underground Strategic Scientific Reserve bunker. Isabel stands by the edge of the building, a concrete barrier between her and falling over the edge as she leans over to watch below and look out at the darkening London skyline. Hundreds of cars honk below as they sit bumper-to-bumper in peak-hour traffic, all fighting to get home before the blackout. It's freezing outside, especially so high up, snow threatening to fall over the city any day. The gloominess is heading their way, about to descend on the city.

Steve emerges onto the rooftop and the squeak of the roof access door doesn't draw Isabel's attention. He walks up to her carefully, not wanting to scare her when she's apparently lost in her thoughts, and clears his throat loudly, but she still doesn't turn. As he gets closer, he realises that she's holding his box brownie camera in her hands when she raises it to take a photograph of the London skyline, sighing when she can't get the camera to cooperate with the darkness and the lights. She turns around, facing away from the view and fiddles with the controls.

Steve's shoe scuffs loudly along the ground, making her jump in surprise. She fumbles the camera but doesn't drop it, thankfully.

"Steve?" She gasps, holding a hand to her chest. She sits back against the concrete wall, her back to the city. "You scared me," she breathes out a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve chuckles. "I was trying to get you to notice me." He walks up to her carefully, leaning against the wall beside her. "Is that my camera?"

Isabel looks down at the camera, eyes widening slightly. "Yes. I hope you don't mind me borrowing it. When we were packing our possessions before you took the serum I packed it in my suitcase. I thought it might have been nice to take some photographs of what we were doing and the places we would be going to."

"Of course, it's okay," Steve reassures. "What have you taken photos of?" He asks curiously.

He had no idea Isabel had an interest in photography. Neither Bucky nor Isabel have ever owned a camera or spent the money to purchase one. Winifred, however, has a camera, so luckily the Barnes family has been able to make lasting memories with that. Still, Isabel and Bucky had both joined their money together one year to buy Steve the camera he'd wanted for Christmas. Since then, Steve has used it religiously to document their lives. In Brooklyn, he'd been the only one who ever thought to use the camera, like the night they'd all moved into their own apartment. Though, usually when he pulled it out, Isabel and Bucky also had a turn taking photographs. Usually, Steve took the camera with them on their journeys and took photographs as inspiration for sketches he'd do later on.

"Well, I'm not very good. I haven't as much practise as you," she laughs. "I've just been photographing the scenery. When you were practising for the USO Tour and I had free time, I took it with me around the cities and took some photos. I snapped a few of you practising onstage in your costume at one point, too. I got a few of the actual shows as well, but I had to sit in the audience to get them. It's just nice to document, you know? So that we don't forget."

"I doubt we'll forget any of this, but you're right," Steve laughs. "Perhaps you missed your calling. Maybe you should be following around with those journalists that took the film of us at the camp."

"I'd need a lot more practise. I've been trying to get this view before the lights go out for the blackout, but I just can't get the lighting to work. It's too dark and the lights are blurred, it won't focus," Isabel mutters.

She hands the camera to Steve when he motions for it. He adjusts a few of the controls and checks himself, before handing it back. Isabel looks through the small eye-lens at the image before snapping it triumphantly.

"Thanks," Isabel says with a bright smile. "It's beautiful, right?" She asks, looking back over her shoulder at the lights. The wind blows her hair into her eyes and she pushes it away with her hand, but it stubbornly returns with the next gust. "So similar to New York but so different at the same time."

"Yeah, it is," Steve agrees, enjoying the fresh air after so many days of being stuffed underground talking tactics.

Some of the roads are cobblestoned, hundreds of years old, and its fascinating to think of how many people have walked the paths, how many horses and carriages passed by before cars were invented. The buildings have an English feel that New York lacks, all old and white and beautifully architectured. There's an awful lot of cathedrals across the skyline, the dome of St. Pauls sticking up in the middle of the city, Westminster Abbey toward the river. But Steve still finds himself missing the fire escapes hanging over the footpath and the brownstone buildings, the bustling store fronts below the apartments, and the view of the towering Manhattan skyline far in the distance across the East River.

"Still doesn't beat good ole Brooklyn, though, right?" She smirks at him, knowing exactly what's on his mind.

"Right," Steve agrees with a small smile.

The wind blows again and Isabel shivers against it, burrowing a little further into her thin coat. Her hair goes in her face and her mouth and she quickly pries it away from her face. "Should've tied it back," she grumbles, tucking it behind her ears. "This reminds me of that night on the Parish rooftop with a little more chill and a little more wind," Isabel murmurs.

"When we looked at the stars, right?"

"Yeah. You know, if you risked coming out here in a few hours during the blackout, it would be almost like you were in the countryside. The stars would be so bright and there'd be so many. I asked Bucky about it. He said that if it's dark enough, without the glow of a city and if it's the right time of the year, you can see the Milky Way Galaxy across the sky. He saw it while he was in one of the trenches one night." She looks up contentedly, her arm waving in one smooth motion across the dull grey sky to indicate where the galaxy would spread, like a painting. "I've never seen the stars like that. Never ever been to the countryside until we were at the Azzano camp, but then we didn't exactly have time to stop and look."

"I'd say we could stay out and watch, but I doubt we want to go up against an air raid. Even I can't fight off twenty fighter planes."

"You don't know until you try, Stevie," Isabel replies with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, it's also freezing. Your lips are turning blue," Steve retorts.

He quickly unbuttons his uniform coat and slips it over Isabel's shoulders. "Won't you be cold?" She asks hesitantly.

"Don't really get cold anymore," Steve tells her. "Radiator, remember?"

Isabel huffs. "It's hardly fair. How are you so warm?" She huddles into the jacket, slipping her arms into the sleeves. The jacket looks awfully big on her, almost swallowing her whole, but it's also adorable. She smiles up at him. "You know what else would be warm?" Isabel asks.

She feels much more confident in flirting with Steve now that she knows that her feelings are reciprocated. She only wishes Bucky had admitted to it long ago or that Steve had. It seems like they've wasted so much time.

"What?"

"Dancing."

Steve's mouth opens and closes momentarily. "But we don't have any music."

"Doesn't matter," Isabel says, pushing herself off the wall and putting the camera carefully on the ground. She puts both hands in front of her, waiting for Steve to take them. "Come on, soldier. You promised me a dance. I'll show you how."

Steve doesn't hesitate, especially not when she turns on the doe-eyes, taking her hands and letting her lead him away from the wall. She stops so that the city is still in full view, but they have enough room to waltz around.

"Surely you know the basics, you've watched Bucky and I dance enough times," she laughs. "Put your hands here, and here," she instructs, moving his hands into the right positions on her waist, the other holding hers outward from their bodies. "The easiest way to dance is to just sway. Step to the same side as me at the same time. Pretend there's a beat."

She takes the first step and Steve follows awkwardly, his body rigid. "Relax," she tells him, squeezing his shoulder a little. Steve instantly tries to relax but her touch only makes him tense up more. He makes himself concentrate and follows along to her steps.

"I feel like it would be much easier with music," Steve says, frowning down at his feet.

"Deaf people can still dance and so can the blind so don't even try that excuse," Isabel counters, raising her eyebrows. "Here, I'll help you. _I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to start, a flame in your heart..."_ Isabel begins to sing, choosing a song with a slower beat, adjusting their swaying just a little to match.

She continues to sing a while, her voice quiet and soft, until Steve gets the hang of the pace their keeping and her voice peters off into a quiet hum of the melody. She's got a nice voice, soft and almost angelic, but Steve doesn't want to ask her to continue singing if she doesn't want to.

"You'd think I'd be a better dancer with the serum," Steve mumbles, his cheeks reddening at his horrible attempt.

Isabel laughs, breaking off her attempt at keeping to a beat. "You'll get it, don't worry. We'll work on it. I'm just glad you're here."

"Has taken a while, hasn't it?" Steve says sadly.

"Hmm. Doesn't matter now, all that matters is that we're here." She steps away from him a little. "Ready for something fancy?"

Steve is about to protest, having only just gotten used to swaying, when Isabel lets go of one of his hands, spinning under his arm and out, their hands still connected but outstretched. She taps her foot on the ground before twirling back into his arms, her hair and dress flying around her, bumping his chest a little with hers when she makes it back.

"Fancy, right?" She laughs with a raised eyebrow.

"Definitely," Steve agrees, his cheeks flushed, sounding a little breathless. "And what if we did this?"

Steve attempts to recreate what he's seen Bucky do on occasion. He spins Isabel out again, a little faster this time, then brings her back in to him, only to dip her backward, low toward the ground. She laughs aloud in amazement, letting Steve pull her back into a standing position.

"You saw Bucky do that, didn't you?" She laughs, her cheeks a little flushed. "It always gets the ladies."

"I never would have been able to do any of that a few months ago," Steve reminisces.

"Because I outweighed you," Isabel chuckles. "You could've danced, just swaying is fine with me."

"One day I'll learn all the dances," Steve promises, holding her close. "I'll dance with you in the halls and at parties. To any song. We can tango and jitterbug and foxtrot around the kitchen..."

"Sounds perfect," Isabel breathes, smiling up at Steve with her bright doe-eyes.

Her heart jumps at the thought of domestic life with Steve, of their own apartment and a brightly-coloured kitchen to dance and cook in and the joy of coming home. Steve himself feels his heart flutter, finding himself looking at Isabel properly for what feels like the first time. Another gust of wind blows them, strong enough that it makes them stumble slightly. Isabel's hair flies straight back into her eyes, and before she can move it, Steve pushes it away from her face for her, smiling down at her with this soppy smirk.

"You remember how I was colour-blind before the serum?" Steve asks.

"Yes. I still don't know how you could paint."

"That's why I used graphite more. I could only use colour paint and pencils when I had help picking out the right colours. Anyway, I, uh, I never knew what colour your eyes were," Steve tells Isabel with a frown, staring intently into her eyes. "What I imagined was so wrong. I don't think I ever could have imagined it properly; I'm just not that creative."

"What did you imagine they were?" Isabel asks curiously.

"Well, to me everything was just a form of grey. Except yellow; I could see yellow, don't ask me why. Your eyes, they were grey too, but a darker grey, so I knew they had to be a darker colour. I thought maybe they were green or hazel, but they're not as I'm sure you know. They're a grey blue, and they change with your mood. When you're happy, they seem to be bluer, like a cerulean ocean. But when you're angry or sad, they turn grey, like the sky on a stormy night; beautiful and dangerous all at once."

"No one's ever describe my eyes like that before," Isabel chuckles, her cheeks only slightly tinged red with embarrassment (which Steve can _actually_ see now), searching Steve's own eyes.

"Guess there's a first for everything."

"You sure you shouldn't have been a writer rather than an artist? Actually no, that's ridiculous. You are insanely talented." Isabel pauses, looking thoughtful. "You'll keep up your art, right? Now that your Captain America?"

"Of course," Steve says immediately. "I love it too much to just stop. I was worried for a while my new hands wouldn't be able to draw like they used to, but they can. It's like a muscle memory, engraved forever. I don't think I'll ever forget how to draw and paint and sketch. And without it, my hand starts to twitch for a pencil. Or I see something and I just _have_ to draw it. I'll never be able to stop."

"Good," Isabel says, sounding rather relieved. "I don't know if I could stand to see you give it up. I know you love it, but I don't think you realise how much joy it brings others, too."

"I remember," Steve says with a content smile, remembering his mother's grin at his drawing of her, Winifred's squeal of delight when she unwrapped her commission of her children.

Steve looks down again, snapping out of the memories, and Isabel looks quite solemn. "What's wrong?" Steve asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Isabel looks up, sighs lightly. "You'll be careful, won't you? When the missions get harder and longer and more dangerous. You'll look after your little pal Bucky?" She adds the last line to add some humour to the situation, having turned it so solemn so quickly.

Steve looks like he wants to argue stubbornly that he's always careful, but at the look Isabel gives him, he closes his mouth. "Of course. We gotta get back to our best gal."

"Yeah, you do. You promise you'll both come back?"

"I think we'll have a hard time doing anything else," Steve promises.

They sway a little longer, the sky ever blackening around them, the lights of the city starting to shine momentarily. They both look out at the view, their attention switching between each other and the skyline, before suddenly, as the clock strikes eight, all of the lights snap off in one instant like a domino effect as the blackout takes effect. They watch each light extinguish, one after the other, descending them into a darkness, everything only illuminated by the wide moon above.

Isabel looks away, since there isn't really anything to look at anyway, and back up to Steve. "Can we talk about something?" Isabel finally asks.

"Sure, about what?"

"Well, it begins with a "u" and ends with "s"," Isabel says, losing her courage from moments before and hoping Steve will pick up the conversation for her.

"You want to talk about the United States?" Steve asks seriously, looking confused and worried, but then his mouth hitches into a smirk. "I'm only kidding."

Isabel laughs, hitting at his shoulder lightly. "I thought that the spangles had invaded your brain for a moment then."

"Actually Belle, I think we should talk about us, too. There was something I wanted to tell you before we leave for the mission tonight."

"What is it?" Isabel asks quickly, relieved that Steve is possibly on the same page as her.

"Well first of all, I wanted to apologise about what happened with Private Lorraine." Isabel's face contorts a little, but she says nothing, nodding for Steve to continue. "She… She was making advances at me and I just, I didn't know how to turn her down. I was trying to let her down gently, you know, was changing the conversation and moving away from her, and then next second, she's dragging me behind the shelf and kissing me. I just froze on the spot. That's never happened before, it was more Bucky' style. I managed to get my wits about me and I pushed her away. I was in the middle of telling her I already had a girl when Peggy interrupted me."

Isabel's eyes soften, and she smiles up at Steve. "It's okay, Stevie. I know, Peggy told me. It isn't your fault, you don't have to apologise."

"But I do," Steve insists. "It should never have happened, I shouldn't have let it go that far. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Belle."

Isabel laughs lightly and kisses his cheek. "I forgave you long ago, Steve. You don't gotta worry. You know I can't stay mad at you, especially not with those sad little baby blues."

Steve laughs, too. "Good, because same goes for you."

"So, that was your first point. Was there a second thing you wanted to talk about?" Isabel presses.

"Yeah, uh…" Steve laughs suddenly, removing his hand from hers to run a hand through his hair. Isabel's hand falls to his other shoulder. "I've been practicing what I was going to say for days – made Bucky listen to it back in our room, much to his disgust – and now I can't even remember it."

Isabel waits patiently as Steve collects himself, her heart fluttering wildly. She wonders if Steve can feel it. He takes her hand again from his shoulder and they continue to sway back and forth in silence, Isabel leaning a little further into Steve's chest, her eyes watching him carefully. Her stomach seems to be doing aerobics inside her, a feeling of excited nausea overcoming her.

"Alright, I can't remember what I was supposed to say so I'll just come out with it. I was wondering if you'd–"

Steve is cut off by the door to the roof bursting open, the wood slamming against the frame and the hinges threatening to snap. Steve immediately pushes Isabel behind him at the threat but relaxes when he sees the intruder on their moment is Falsworth. Monty pants slightly as he runs over to the couple, Isabel stepping out from behind Steve.

"Falsworth?" Steve asks questioningly, his distinct, authoritative Captain America voice drifting into place once again within a split second.

"Captain," he addresses, ever into formalities. "We've been running all over searching for you. We just received news: the second factory in France knows we're coming. They're sending reinforcements to protect it now. We need to go straight away if we're going to intercept them in time and get out again. Once the factory's too heavily guarded, we'll never get in. The plane's ready and waiting for us."

At that moment, Bucky steps through the doorway to the roof, much calmer than Falsworth. "If you two are done being disgusting?" He asks Isabel and Steve, stopping beside Falsworth. "Just thought I'd remind you there's still a war going on, in case it slipped your minds."

Steve glares at Bucky, giving him a pointed look. Bucky's eyes widen slightly when he realises Steve was finally growing a pair and their moment was interrupted. Isabel looks both annoyed and embarrassed, standing with her hands clasped in front of her and cheeks red, still donning Steve's jacket.

"Dammit," Steve mumbles under his breath, looking apologetically at Isabel beside him.

"Go," she reassures, taking a hesitant step further away from him. "Go get them."

"I'll come back," Steve promises.

He hesitates for a second, one step closer to the door, before one hand grips the back of Isabel's head lightly, holding her in place as he lightly kisses her on her forehead.

Then, he's running off through the roof access, Falsworth flanking his heels. Bucky stays only a second longer to wave goodbye before he disappears as well, and Isabel is left wondering whether it all had only been a dream. It wasn't though, and the thought makes her smile and bite her lip, the spot on her forehead tingling from the touch of Steve's lips and the warmth of Steve's jacket securely around her.

* * *

A/N:Hi everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Thanks for all the follows, favourites and reviews, they mean the world to me. Please continue to review and let me know what you're thinking of the story, plot and characters. We're going exciting places from here on, so prepare for a lot of action!

The song Isabel sings is called "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire". It was written in 1938 but recorded in 1941. It was recorded by various artists including Horace Heidt, The Ink Spots (this is the version I am familiar with), Tommy Tucker, Mitchell Ayres and Vera Lynn. It's lyrics, particularly "I don't want to set the world on fire / I just want to start a flame in your heart" made it very popular after the attack on Pearl Harbour in December 1941.

Also, just to make it clear, the camera that Steve and Isabel is using is called a Brownie camera, or box brownie, and no that was not a typo. My grandmother has one at her house that still works and it is so cute! It was first introduced in February 1900 as a form of low cost photography that introduced the concept of the snapshot to the masses. People could take portable and affordable photographs whenever and wherever. The Brownie was a very basic cardboard box camera with a simple meniscus lens that took 2 1/4-inch square pictures on 117 roll film. Because of its simplicity, the initial price was $1, equivalent to $29 in 2017, and along with low prices for the film rolls and processing, it was extremely popular.


	33. Chapter 32

**32.**

 **London,** **United Kingdom**

 **December 8th, 1943**

Colonel Phillips sits in his office, filling out paperwork. It seems paperwork has taken over every ounce of his being. He never seems to do anything but fill out paperwork and deal with Captain Rogers and his new ragtag gang. He knows those kids are going to give him a headache, but they also may be the best damn team the allies have been praying for, and despite his grievances, he can't deny that Rogers is an army within himself.

An incoming radio call on the transponder pings suddenly, making the older man jump out of his thoughts and mechanical writing. He picks it up quickly, only having one person who could possibly be communicating through it out in the field.

"Captain Rogers, done so soon?" Phillips asks smugly.

" _Negative, Colonel_ ," Steve says, and his voice sounds pained and frustrated. " _We've successfully taken the factory but we've sustained heavy injury. Two of us are down. We're going to try to get into the tree line and wait until it passes, but I can't make any promises. Hydra's backup is scheduled to arrive any time now and those of us left can't fight off an entire platoon, it just isn't possible. Requesting backup and a medical evacuation. We need a flight home, sir_."

Phillips sucks in a deep breath, standing from his chair. "On it, Captain Rogers. ETA one hour."

" _It may have to be quicker than that. Captain Rogers, out_."

Phillips sets down the radio on the desk with a clunk, hurrying around his desk and out the door to his office into the fray of the underground bunker. He's got some work to do and some people to recruit into battle.

* * *

 **?, France**

 **December 8th, 1943**

The sound of gunfire is heavy in the air, permeating the otherwise silent forest. _Bang bang bang_ goes Bucky's revolver as he fires shot after shot, taking down one enemy at a time. The butt of the rifle hits his shoulder over and over and grounds him to the present. There's also a loud whoosh as Steve throws the shield across the field in front of them, managing to hit the enemy in a certain way that the shield comes flying back to him like a loyal dog, ready to be thrown again.

Morita lays on the ground listening to these sounds as Falsworth leans over him, holding a wad of cloth to the wound. He got hit by a slug not too long ago, the bullet lodged only a few inches from his heart. The force and pain had sent him down immediately, hitting the ground with a painful thud that had sent agony through his back, shoulders and neck. Falsworth had dragged him out of the line of fire and to a safer spot behind the line that the Commandos have formed to ward off the approaching enemy.

Cap, Serge and Dugan are the only ones continuing to shoot, fighting the onslaught of bullets from the backup Hydra soldiers who recently found their way to the factory.

The Commandos had initially taken the factory easily, just like the first of its kind, though Dernier and Jones had suffered wounds from a bayonet and a bullet respectively. Steve had radioed base from inside the confines of the factory to be picked up again immediately, hoping Stark would make it back with the plane in time. They'd attempted to make their way from the factory to hide in the surrounding tree line and wait for the plane, planning on bringing the factory down behind them. However, the second wave of Hydra soldiers had arrived before they could get to safety, spotting Dugan as he attempted to place the explosive on the outside of the building. They'd begun shooting right away, the Commandos using nearby tanks and dumped crates as cover as they shot right back.

Steve looks up to the sky, frustrated at seeing no sign of backup yet.

"So much for this being easy," Dugan tells him, smiling at him from over the top of his rifle resting on the edge of the tank.

"Yeah, well, it is Hydra," Steve counters.

He hides behind the shield, shooting over the top of it and taking down one goon after another, though the enemy crowd never seems to get any smaller. Beside him, Bucky never misses a shot, each of his bullets expertly taking down the Hydra goons, creating a large pile of them on the ground.

Steve can hear Morita groaning on the ground behind them, as well as Dernier's swearing in French. He turns to check on them. Dernier is sitting up against a tank, holding a rag to a stab wound on his shoulder, Jones beside him trying to pluck a rogue bullet from his calf. Falsworth is pressing a cloth rag tightly to Morita's chest. Morita looks out of it, his eyelashes fluttering like a drunks'. Steve sighs. He should have known Isabel would have been right, that their only medic would be wounded, and they wouldn't have backup. If you asked him, he'd say her words jinxed them.

Steve turns back to the fight just as a Hydra goon appears right in front of him and jumps up powerfully, scaling the top of the shield and knocking Steve in the face with his knee. Steve and the goon go down, flailing in the mud. He may have gotten the drop on Steve, but Steve's much stronger and faster. The serum wasn't for nothing, after all. Steve grabs the soldier by his collar and easily throws him back over the tank, right into the oncoming slaughter of his own side's bullets. The bullets tear him up as he hits the ground, still.

Steve shakes it off, regaining his position on the line between Bucky and Dugan. He continues to shoot, his pistol getting dangerously close to running out of ammo.

Suddenly, they hear the far-off buzz of a plane, and Steve peeks behind him to see the familiar vehicle making a landing in a nearby field a few hundred yards through the trees. He hopes Phillips remembered to send artillery backup as well as medical evacuation. They wait a while longer, holding the line, before they hear the rustle of leaves and footsteps approaching from behind. Several allied soldiers, including Colonel Phillips himself, burst into the field. They take place beside the Commandos and begin their own onslaught, equipped with larger machine guns and even a grenade launcher. The looming Hydra soldiers eventually get smaller, though each man seems to be replaced by another in an identical uniform. It's like they're multiplying on the spot, and it's worrying that they won't get through them all.

Bucky's gun clicks, indicating that it's out of ammo. He ducks down quickly, his back to the tank, and pulls another magazine from his pants' pocket, loading it up. He looks up quickly, watching as two female nurses, arms full of a medical kit and supplies, run low along the ground across the tree line toward the fallen Commandos. One veers off to Jones and Dernier sitting against the tank. The other approaches Morita, who lies on the dirty ground with Falsworth over him, his hands covered in bright red blood. Bucky looks back down to his gun, clicking the final mechanism into place, before doing a double-take at how familiar the woman is.

"Isabel?" Bucky asks.

He wonders if his eyes are deceiving him, but they definitely aren't. Isabel all but falls to the ground beside Morita, who is instructing Monty as best he can whilst sweating and shaking from the pain, nearly dropping out of consciousness. Isabel relieves Falsworth of his duty as temporary medic and sends him back into the fight. The Brit looks baffled and outraged and questions her appearance, but she waves him away, focusing on Morita's wound. Monty eventually obeys, joining the line beside Bucky, who takes the opportunity to slip his way down the line closer to her.

"Isabel? What the hell do you think you're doing out in a war zone?" Bucky yells over the noise, his attention half on the fight and half on his sister behind him.

"Helping," Isabel replies, her hands already red with Morita's flowing lifeblood. "Phillips sent me."

At that moment, Steve hears the sound of her voice over the lowering noise of battle and turns. He spots Isabel, his eyes widening, and he very nearly drops the shield. She doesn't make eye contact, busy dealing with the wound. Steve tears his eyes away just in time to slam the shield into an agent that got a little too close, throwing the shield to take out the last few agents still standing, their bodies falling to the ground in a heap. He catches the shield as it comes back to him, having gotten used to its physics.

The battlefield falls relatively silent, Phillips and the others taking out a few more rogue agents that appear and rustle in the trees. It's always eerie, the calm after the battle. It never feels quite right.

"Get the wounded onto the plane. Everyone else, climb on board ready for immediate departure," Steve instructs the backup.

Steve stays in place to scan the woods for any agents that may have broken formation to attack from another angle. Bucky stays beside him, rifle raised to the tree line. The two friends slowly work their way out into the open field, stepping over the piles of mutilated corpses, scanning for any survivors.

A few men come to take Morita, but Isabel stops them. "No, not yet. He's not stable enough to move him. Evacuate everyone else first and then come back."

The men nod and move off, evacuating the other Commandos, the wounded and the backup onto the plane a few hundred meters through the trees where Howard waits with the engine running, ready to take off whenever everyone is safely onboard.

That leaves Isabel and Morita practically alone on the field, only Steve and Bucky a few hundred yards away. Isabel hunches over Jim, quickly working to dig the bullet out in case it dislodges and moves when he's carried, hurriedly sewing the wound shut to stench the bleeding. There's quite a bit of internal damage that she's hurrying to fix, or at least stabilise, so that they can get Morita out of their and to safety, where he may require surgery. Her hands only shake a little, her nimble fingers threading the silk thread between the broken, bloody skin. It's a mess of blood and muscle, a horrible sight, but she manages to hide it beneath the stitches, pulling it all back together again.

Morita breaks off his pained moans to mumble something, his voice no more than a whisper.

"What?" Isabel whispers back. "Jim, I need to concen–"

"Watch out," he tries again, louder and clearer this time, managing to raise his hand to point behind Isabel.

She turns quickly, finding a lone Hydra agent advancing on them, a bayonet raised in the tight grip of his hand. His helmet is missing and his face is creased into an evil snarl, his eyes locked on them. Isabel feels a surge run through her entire being, one she very rarely experienced before now. Usually, it was reserved for her family, and she recognises it immediately – protectiveness. A part of the Barnes family lineage, they've all got it, and right now she's immensely protective because this lone soldier with only a bayonet is trying to hurt a member of her newfound family and that, she just won't settle for.

Isabel moves like lightning, not really thinking as she snatches Morita's forgotten rifle from the ground beside him. She raises it to her eye and points it at the soldier, praying the gun is loaded and the safety is off – she has no idea how to do any of those things. She pulls the trigger, the force of the gun sending her shoulder jolting back painfully and the bullet lodging in the soldier's chest, most likely puncturing his lung by the sound he makes. Isabel watches wide eyed and shocked as the German gasps for strangled breath, clutching his chest, and stumbles backward.

He doesn't fall though, using the momentum to propel himself forward again toward them, bayonet prepared to hit her. He gets close enough that she feels the rush of the air as he swings toward her face but misses. She shoots again, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, this time hitting the enemy soldier right in his throat. He gurgles and spits up a mouthful of black blood that coats her and Morita, tar in his veins. Then he falls forward and hits the ground with a thud only a few inches from them. He continues to gasp for laboured bloody breath and Isabel just stares at him, mouth open in utter shock as the adrenaline quickly wears off. She drops the rifle from her hands, landing with a soft thud in the grass.

Slowly, she turns back to Morita, finding him now unconscious. "Jim?" She asks in a voice just shy of hysterical, quickly feeling his throat for a pulse. She finds one, slow but steady, and immediately breathes a sigh of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye Isabel sees two pairs of legs, and then Steve's bending down over Morita. He leaves the shield on the ground, lifting Morita easily in his arms and running with him toward the plane, managing to keep his limp body somewhat steady. Isabel feels someone grab her from behind and Bucky hauls her to her feet, holding Steve's shield to block any attack from their left and aiming his gun to the right, scouring the woods as he pushes Isabel along. Isabel forces her legs to move, to carry her back to the waiting plane. They board the plane second to last, only waiting a few seconds more for Dugan to return, having run back to the factory to detonate the explosives as per Dernier's instruction.

The second Bucky lets go of her, Isabel goes straight back to Morita, continuing to clean his wound and fix her messy workmanship while Steve closes the cabin door. The plane speeds off down the field, only just clearing the tree canopy on its ascent.

After a long while of fiddling and stitching and cleaning, Isabel finally stabilises Morita enough that she can leave him for a while before returning to the wound. She tells Falsworth to keep an eye on him and hold pressure to the wound to stench the bleeding while she helps the other nurse with Jones' bullet wound in his calf, which Nurse Caroline has already managed to dislodge and has begun sewing on the plane.

Jones has lost a lot more blood than even Morita, Caroline's shaking hands butchering the sewing as she fought to stay calm under the conditions of a barrage. They finally get him cleaned up, giving him a dose of morphine. Jones settles back against the metal wall of the plane, somehow falling into a fitful doze.

They finish with Dernier, cleaning the bayonet slash across his shoulder. It looks worse to the eye than it is. It isn't deep enough to warrant stitches, only needing to be wrapped with gauze, but its deep enough to be incredible painful, causing the Frenchman to wince with every movement of his arms and upper body.

"Take a break, Nurses. You've done well," Phillips eventually instructs when it's clear they've done all they can. Caroline nods, taking a seat near Morita's silent form to keep an eye on his vitals.

Isabel runs her dirty hands through her hair, the blood now dried, visibly shaken by being resorted to killing. "I'm fine," she says, wiping the sweat from her brow and accidentally leaving a trail of dried, speckled blood across her pale skin.

No one argues with her, knowing this is her way of distracting herself. She moves back to Morita and works a while longer on him, managing to stench the bleeding. He won't need further surgery, she hopes. Then, she attends to Falsworth, patching up a small cut on his arm, and then to Dugan, who's ankle gave a slight twinge when he tripped on a branch rushing back to the plane. She busies herself with small injuries, avoiding making eye contact with Steve or Bucky because she knows she's about the get an earful for being out in the field. Phillips distracts Steve with the debrief then and there while they fly back to London, taking the other soldier's statements as well.

They arrive back at the London airfield within two hours, Stark flying slower to conserve fuel, and multiple trucks await at the edge of the airfield to bring them back to the base's infirmary. They all climb aboard into the bay of the trucks, the first man in holding the canvas flap open for the others. Steve helps load the injured into the trucks and then gets in himself. He turns and wordlessly offers a hand to Isabel. She takes it and he hauls her into the truck bed. His hands linger on her for a moment as though he may pull her into a hug, but he seems to decide against it, leading her further into the truck so he can help others inside. It doesn't escape Steve's notice how much her hand shakes in his.

Isabel dutifully sits down by Morita's head, keeping an eye on his vitals, still avoiding eye contact no matter how much Steve and the others try to get it. As she sits, Mortia's eyes flicker open, his first signs of consciousness since she shot the Hydra soldier to save them. He looks around, noting that they are in a truck, and brings a hand up to the wound, finding it stitched shut and bandaged. Then, he locks eyes with Isabel above him.

"You saved my life," he slurs, eyes already fluttering shut again.

"That's what we do," Isabel whispers back, but it falls on deaf ears.

The ride back to base doesn't take long and it's almost silent. The injured men lie quietly on the floor of the truck or sit carefully on their seats, holding their wounds with pained expressions. The others contemplate the previous battle, how quickly it went from bad to worse.

They arrive at the base and the injured are taken downstairs to the infirmary. Isabel and Caroline jump out of the truck immediately before anyone can offer to help them and follow the SSR agents who have come up from underground to carry the injured downstairs. They get into the elevator to make their way to the infirmary, emerging in the basement and manoeuvre through the busy halls.

Isabel stops when she hears pounding footsteps behind her, turning to see Steve approaching her, looking angry. He must have taken the stairs to catch her. Isabel nods for Caroline to meet her there, turning to face Steve. He stops running to catch up and instead charges toward her like some angry bull. Isabel feels a spike of fear jolt through her, which is ridiculous because she's never been scared of Steve before in her entire life and she knows he'd never, ever hurt her. But she supposes his new size can be intimidating. She stands her ground, even when he gets close enough to tower over her.

"Isabel," Steve says when he gets close enough, his voice scarily level.

"Steve?"

"What were you thinking, Isabel?" Steve growls.

"Thinking about what?" She asks.

"Coming out into enemy territory like that! What were you thinking?" Steve bellows with frustration, his deep voice booming through the halls.

Isabel assumes the only reason why Bucky isn't here is because he got preoccupied by doing something, or Steve stormed off to find her before Bucky could follow along.

"I wasn't thinking because those things I do out there, I don't have to think about them. It all comes naturally to me. Helping people, fixing wounds, saving lives - it's what I'm good at so it's what I'm going to do!" She growls back, disappointed that she's being lectured for her efforts and not praised.

"You could have been killed out there!" Steve tells her loudly, his voice risen, both angry and beside himself with fear.

"But I wasn't," Isabel retorts angrily. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You have no idea, _no idea_ , what it's like out there. How dangerous it is!"

Isabel frowns harder and puts her hands on her hips, staring down Captain America. A few agents passing in the hallways slow to watch them, confused and amused by the tiny woman confronting the massive blonde Captain.

"First of all, Steve, you need to calm down. I won't tolerate being spoken to in this manner. I am not a child," Isabel tells him, poking him hard in the chest for good measure. She doubts he can even feel it.

"I-I–"

"Second of all, I don't need to see the war for myself to know what it's like. I have a pretty swell imagination and I've heard stories, read books and seen films. I am a nurse, I know how these things work. I have seen death and I'm not afraid to be surrounded by it," Isabel continues.

Steve doesn't reply, looking a little terrified himself of Isabel's outburst.

"Third, I don't need a lecture from you. You are the last person who should be lecturing me on not thinking. You never think before you act, you just jump right in. So, what? It's okay for you to be reckless, but not me? It's okay for you to do your part to help, but I have to sit here alone? I knew the risks and I was willing to take them to help."

Steve seems to calm down a lot, visibly deflating, knowing he's been caught out. "But why would you volunteer to come like that?" Steve asks, exasperated.

"Actually, I sent her," a male voice says from behind Steve. Steve turns angrily toward Colonel Phillips, who stands in the hallway with his arms crossed, his eyebrow raised. "She's a medic, a qualified nurse, and she was one of the only ones on site available to go save your asses. She was following orders, Captain Rogers, just as you do."

"She doesn't take orders from you, she isn't in the Army," Steve says roughly.

"That can be easily changed, so watch your tone," Phillips warns, and Steve immediately backtracks. "You're right, she didn't have to follow orders, but she did. I'd say it was more to save you than to listen to me. She did well, Rogers. Admit it."

Steve hangs his head, nodding. "Yes, she did."

"She saved Morita and Jones, and herself. And, she's quite a good shot. Seems to take after Sergeant Barnes in that department." Phillips walks a little closer to Steve. "Don't be so hard on her. She's a smart kid," Phillips whispers to Steve, patting him on the shoulder.

With that, Phillips smiles at Isabel and squeezes past them down the corridor. Isabel watches him go, wishing he'd come back so she wasn't alone with angry Steve. She turns and glances at Steve apologetically before taking off down the corridor too. She leaves Steve in the hallway, and he doesn't even try to chase her, just standing there looking defeated. Isabel walks toward the infirmary, knowing her job isn't quite over yet for the day. Steve and his anger can wait.

* * *

Peggy enters the infirmary, confronted with three drawn curtain partitions around three of the beds, each containing Morita, Dernier and Jones. The other beds are empty. On the other side of the infirmary, standing at the sink is Isabel, washing and disinfecting the medical equipment used on the patients.

Peggy had come in periodically to check on Isabel since the Commandos returned to base, ensuring that her friend was not overworking herself or at risk of a breakdown at what she's seen. Going out into the field like that, with no preparation whatsoever, would have to take a toll on a person. Even though Isabel would have experienced most injuries working at the hospital, she's never experienced battle, or working on a wound under such circumstances.

"Where is Nurse Caroline?" Peggy asks by way of greeting, not seeing the other nurse anywhere.

Isabel jumps at her voice, bubbles and water flying with her hands. She tries to hide it, but it doesn't escape the agent's notice. "She went home to rest," Isabel answers.

"And you didn't think to rest yourself?" Peggy asks.

"We can't both leave at once," Isabel argues. "If something were to happen, one of us has to be here. Especially for Morita, he isn't in a good shape as of yet. I sent Caroline home and she promised to return within twelve hours to relieve me."

Peggy doesn't seem satisfied by this answer, but she can see the logic behind the reasoning, so she lets it slide. "Do you need any help?" Peggy asks.

"That isn't your job, Peg–"

"Nonsense," Peggy says.

She rolls up her sleeves on her blouse and picks up a cloth, drying off the utensils for Isabel. She places them carefully to the side on a sheet of paper towel so as to not dirty them again. Isabel finishes washing up and then goes to Peggy's other side, carrying to medical equipment back to its home in the trolley against the wall and sorting it into the proper drawer.

"I think I understand a little more of what you meant, Peggy," Isabel mutters to her friend, slowly putting the scalpels away, careful not to cut herself.

"About what, love?" Peggy asks, curiosity peaked.

"In the car in Brooklyn, when you said that you knew a little of what it was like to have ever door shut in your face."

Peggy remembers the conversation well. It had been her first time ever meeting the woman that Steve had talked about near-constantly at basic training. She, of course, had spent a lot of time with Steve, eating meals with him and speaking with him whenever they crossed paths. She hadn't wanted to show favouritism to one candidate, but Steve had been the only soldier at the camp to treat her as the successful woman she was and not a doll to chase after. Steve had held a respect for her that was hard to find, and in return, she had respected him just as much, if not more. It had been clear, even then when Steve was weak and sickly, that he had the making of greatness, as well as a burning protectiveness and respect for Isabel as well.

"When you said that, I just couldn't think of how a woman like you would have trouble becoming successful in what you set your mind to. You seem so confident and successful and respected. I didn't see the barriers you would have had to overcome because you didn't let those barriers define you as a person. I know I didn't know you at all then, but I just assumed that you would have succeeded at anything you attempted and knocked out anyone who stood in your way," Isabel continues.

Peggy laughs at that. "You weren't too far off. I gave Gilmore Hodge a horrible black eye at his basic training. But you're correct, I had to overcome a lot of hurdles to get where I am. I had to work hard for what I wanted, and I still have to continue to work hard to remain in my position. It isn't easy for a woman to manoeuvre her way through a man's world."

"No, it isn't," Isabel says thoughtfully.

"I suppose you bring this up because you are experiencing a similar situation?" Agent Carter wonders.

"Yes," Isabel says, turning to face her friend. "The night that Steve recruited the Commandos, I asked to join as a second medic. Warned him that if something happened to Morita, they would be in trouble. He and Bucky immediately turned me away and I let the idea go, resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be going on missions alongside then. But then what I predicted came true. I came out and helped and I saved Morita's life, and then my own. I know that I don't do it for praise, but… Steve, he got angry at me about it. Tried to lecture me in the hall."

"Yes, Phillips told me about that," Peggy says. "He also told me that you very quickly put Steve in his place and argued for your right to be there. I must say, I'm very proud of you for that."

"Thank you," Isabel says quietly. "I just… If I were a man, it wouldn't have even been a question."

Peggy sighs, making Isabel trail off. "Isabel, love, it isn't because you're a woman. You and I, our situations are different. I was looked down on because of my gender. I worked hard and attempted to change the way I'm viewed. It's worked, somehow, and now many people, including Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark, are open to the idea of working with women, and that women are just as capable as men. That isn't your problem. Phillips, Stark, the Commandos, they're all willing and grateful to work with you. The reason why you aren't considered is because Steve and your brother love you too much to let something happen to you."

Isabel is quiet at that, seemingly having a lightbulb moment. "Oh," she says quietly. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course, it does," Peggy laughs. "Look, Steve and Bucky are blinded by their connection to you. You're their family. They don't want anything to happen to you. They may be making themselves out to seem like right drools, but they really do mean well."

"I know," Isabel sighs. "It just hurts, you know?"

"Yes, it does," Peggy agrees. "I wasn't supposed to say anything with you, but I'm currently in talks with Colonel Phillips and the rest of the Commandos. Phillips wants to make some… changes to the Howling Commandos team. He actually wants to see you now, or whenever you're free. Just act like you don't know anything, okay?"

Isabel's face lights up like a Christmas tree at that. "I will, I promise!" Isabel cheers. "I'll do a round of vitals and then I'll go straight there. Oh, Peggy, thank you so much."

"Don't thank me," Peggy laughs, accepting Isabel's hug. "It was actually Phillips' idea."

* * *

Isabel goes to Phillips' office once she's done a round of vitals, checking mainly on Morita's sleeping form. Agent Carter has been acting as his eyes, so Colonel Phillips knows that Isabel has hardly left the infirmary since they arrived back at the base, tending to the Commandos wounds, particularly Morita, who has quite a long path toward healing ahead of him. She looks tired, her hair pulled back sloppily into a ponytail, black bags under her eyes.

"You really should rest," Phillips tells her, eyeing her appearance.

"I'm fine, Colonel Phillips. I have a job to do, and I couldn't allow myself to rest until it was completed. Nurse Caroline will be returning in a few hours to relieve me, anyway."

"Fair enough," Chester says.

He doesn't say much else, instead just looking at Isabel. She grows uncomfortable under his critical eye. She slides a little further down in the visitor's chair, shrunken in on herself.

"Was there another reason why you called me in, sir?" Isabel asks, feigning innocence and naivety.

"Yes," he finally says, leaning forward so that his elbows lean on the dark wood of the desk. "I'm worried, Nurse Barnes, that the events of two days ago may repeat," Phillips tells Isabel, clasping his hands in thought.

"You mean how the Howling Commandos only medic suffered a possibly fatal injury in the field?"

"Yes. What good is a medic to a team if he's injured and no one else knows how to help, or no one else has the time to?"

"Not very good," Isabel agrees. "Sir, what are you suggesting?"

"You do good work, Barnes. Your work in the infirmary here and your in-depth monitoring of Captain Rogers' transformation has shown you are quite capable in your profession. Howard Stark also speaks rather highly of your skill and intelligence. You handled yourself well in your brief fifteen minutes of fame in the field, though you could learn how to wield a firearm a little better."

"Sir?" Isabel pushes, waiting for Phillips to make his point.

"I want you in the Howling Commandos as a second medic. If anything happens to Private Morita again, they're in trouble. They won't always have a medical evac so close by or won't always be in an accessible location. I'm confident you'll be able to transition into his position as medic when necessary," Phillips says, monitoring Isabel's reaction.

She stammers a while, her mouth opening and closing. "Sir, I've already brought the idea up to Captain Rogers, back when he was first recruiting his team. He said no. While I'm all for the idea, I truly don't think he would have changed his mind to allow me onto the team. Or Sergeant Barnes, for that matter. You heard the outburst in the hallway the other day, and that was just for being on the medical evacuation team. How would they react if I joined them in invading the most heavily fortified areas of Europe?"

"Yes, you're right. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are the only two I haven't gotten around to speaking to yet," Phillips says thoughtfully.

"Wait, what? You spoke to the others?"

"Yes, everyone was in favour of the proposition, actually. They all seem quite fond of you," Phillips says with an uncharacteristic smile. "Morita, especially, since you shot that Hydra agent to save his life and yours."

Isabel shivers and Phillips chooses to ignore it. "You'll never convince Steve and Bucky. If I can't, you don't have a chance," Isabel bets. "I'd bet my bottom dollar."

"You better get ready to pay up then, Barnes. I never lose a bet," Phillips smirks, leaning back smugly in his chair.

* * *

Bucky storms down the corridor, Steve in tow. He makes his way through the mainly-deserted, dimly-lit corridors and barges into Colonel Phillips' office without knocking. He knows he's taking a chance behaving like this, but he hasn't been left much of a choice. He relents though, that Steve can do most of the talking considering Steve outranks him.

The Colonel looks up from his papers, not even surprised to see the Captain and his Sergeant before him. "Ah, Captain, Sergeant. I was expecting a visit from you," he says. "Shut the door, sit down."

They do as they're told, Bucky sitting angrily in the chair with a huff.

"Who told you?" Phillips asks knowingly.

"The Commandos. They were talking about it in the pub," Bucky answers.

"What are you doing, recruiting Isabel to the team behind my back?" Steve growls.

Phillips looks at Steve with an indeterminable expression, almost one of boredom. "It's my team, Rogers. They're under US Army rule. I can recruit whoever I want, whenever I want. And I can discharge others as I please. You go where I send you and you come back when I tell you."

Steve opens his mouth to argue. "Col–"

"I let you find your own damn ragtag gang, Rogers. But now the decisions are up to me," Phillips growls. "I can't have a repeat of your last mission. Morita goes down, gets hit, and all of you are toast. We just can't risk losing any of you for such matters. You really are the best team the Army's got. Having a second medic is just a precaution."

"I understand that, Colonel Phillips, but my sister can't fight in a warzone," Bucky argues. "That isn't what she was made for. She's a nurse. She isn't meant to harm, she's meant to heal."

"She isn't fighting, Barnes. She is helping purely as a medic. One of you gets injured, she fixes you up. I don't expect her to do any more shooting than you expect her to, not unless she absolutely has to. You're right. She hasn't been trained in combat. She has no weapons or tactics training. But she does have extensive medical training, much more so than Morita. She'll be a valuable asset to your team."

"This isn't fair on her to be in that situation. What if she has to kill again or gets injured?" Steve tries.

"Not fair on her, or not fair on you? She told me she wanted to join your team from the beginning, but you turned her down. If you ask me, the only one not being fair is you." Steve is quiet, glaring at Phillips. "Is it because she's a woman? Because if either of you have something against women fighting, let's stick you in the ring with Agent Carter. I'm sure she will have no qualms about showing you her right hook."

"Neither of us have any problem with women fighting the war, Colonel Phillips. I'm the last person to ever discriminate that way. I grew up dealing with that sort of behaviour from other people, and I'm not about to thrust it onto someone else. Besides, half of the Commandos are mixed raced as well. We are not racists or sexists," Steve replies evenly.

"It isn't that she's a girl, it's that she's family. She's my sister, and she's Steve's…" Bucky trails off. "Anyway, she's too close to home. If she got injured, it would be different to if the other men got injured."

"I understand that, Sergeant Barnes, I really do," Phillips reassures. "But she's an adult. She knows what she wants just as much as you do. She's supported both of you and followed both of you here. You were the ones who exposed her. She's gotten a taste of it now of what it means to truly help, and she wants more. She may be doing valuable work here every day with Stark, but she isn't fulfilled. She could be doing more, could be doing both. Tell me, Captain, where you fulfilled doing the USO Tour?"

"No, but–"

"But you were still helping, still contributing to the war effort," Phillips barges on, cutting off Steve's protest. "Just like you were unfulfilled in the USO, Nurse Barnes is unfulfilled here. She's miserable and lonely being stuck at the base, and Carter can't keep her company all the time. We gave you a chance, Rogers. Why are you denying Miss Barnes the same chance?"

Bucky sighs loudly. "We aren't denying her anything, we're trying to save her life."

"You aren't saving anything. Instead, you both are going to push her away. Do you really want that?" Phillips pushes.

Neither man says anything, apparently giving in to the fact that Isabel will be joining their missions.

"Here, I'll make you a deal," Phillips finally says after a moments consideration. "Agent Carter will assist on any mission she is able to. Isabel doesn't enter the complex until there is an emergency and she is required as medic, in which case she will be escorted inside by Agent Carter or by yourselves. She can stay well away from the firefight and she can be ready with a radio and weapon at all times. Most times she probably won't even see action."

Steve and Bucky take a moment to communicate with only their eyes and eyebrows, a shrug here and there. If this is the way it's going to go, at least they can dictate to some extent when Isabel is in a position of danger.

"Agreed," Steve eventually says, though his voice lacks confidence, and Bucky can see from his eyes that he's absolutely beside himself, too.

Bucky knows how it feels, to want to keep someone out of the fight so badly only to have someone else give them a chance. To watch the person as they get involved, to see them experience the horrors he'd wanted to shield them from. Bucky sighs, running a hand down his face.

"I'm glad you agreed, because the arrangement has already been settled between myself, Agent Carter, Miss Barnes and the rest of the Howling Commandos. You didn't exactly have a choice."

Steve's jaw drops open. "Wha– You talked to everyone–"

Phillips waves them away, halting another one of Steve's arguments. "Now get out of my office, and leave the poor girl alone," Phillips demands, picking up his telephone to make a call. "I don't want to hear another word of protest from either of you."

Steve and Bucky share a look before resigning and stepping outside, closing the door behind them and cutting off Phillip's voice talking into the phone.

"We still have time to talk her out of it before the next mission," Bucky reassures.

Steve doesn't seem put at ease in the slightest.


	34. Chapter 33

**33.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **December 17th, 1943**

In the two weeks since the Commandos returned from their second mission, Isabel has barely seen Steve or Bucky or any of the other men apart from passing glances, hasty conversations, hellos and goodbyes.

In a way, she knows she's been avoiding Steve and Bucky, at least a little bit. Her second last conversation with Steve was about them and their relationship, leaving all of the strings unattached. It feels... not awkward, but just unfinished, and neither of them are quite sure how to pick it back up again without forcing it. Besides, they're a little strained considering their last full conversation had been something of a yelling match in the corridor after arriving back at base, where Isabel had shut down Steve's attack and been aided by Colonel Phillips in her retreat.

The encounter hasn't sat well with her. Her and Steve have never fought in their entire lives, not that she can remember. They've always gotten along well, aside from the rare bicker and teasing between each other. The idea of Steve being mad at her, and her being mad at Steve, makes Isabel feel unsettled; like her world's tipped off it's axis or something. But she knows Steve wasn't really angry at her, or at least won't be for long if he was. He was scared more than anything - scared for her and her safety and of all the things that could go wrong, something she can't fault him on but can begrudge - and fear makes people do strange things sometimes, makes them emotional and turbulent, something Steve doesn't need help to be.

Since then, Isabel has run into both Steve and Bucky at odd times throughout the base, though neither party had the time to stop and talk too long. Steve and Bucky were busy planning their attacks on Hydra and learning the ways of the Army, some meetings that Isabel herself attended. Isabel was busy working with Howard and helping Nurse Caroline in the infirmary when there was a workplace injury. Steve had looked a little embarrassed and shy when they'd run into each other in the rather abandoned hallway outside the lab, probably due to the context of their last conversations. He'd tried to talk to her and she'd tried to talk to him, but Peggy had approached and moved him along, reminding him he had a meeting to attend that he was late for. They ran into each other alone another two times, and each time someone had ushered Steve somewhere or another, always on a time limit. Steve had looked apologetic, but he'd gone, leaving her in the hallway once again.

Bucky has been much more open to conversation when she'd run into him in the hallway, not being rushed anyway and hardly caring if he was to be late for a meeting or appointment. One Friday at noon he comes into the laboratories with three lunch trays piled up into his hands, lunch for himself, Isabel and Howard. He takes a seat at Isabel's empty desk chair and pulls up another for Isabel beside him, leaving Howard's tray for him on his own desk.

Isabel takes the seat next to Bucky, eyeing him carefully. "Don't you have a meeting today?" She asks. "I thought I heard something about getting together to form the next mission plan?"

"We do, but not for that. It's to discuss the... team's dynamic. It doesn't matter if I'm late," Bucky says vaguely, waving a hand to indicate for her not to worry.

"It probably does matter," Isabel argues, but she says nothing else, her mind turning over.

The Commandos have no missions set up in the immediate future despite having intel, and Isabel has the distinct feeling they're putting them off because they're still arguing over whether she should be allowed to join the fight, no doubt the topic of the day's meeting. It seems like a shame, considering they don't exactly have unlimited time before Hydra completes their plans for their world domination quest.

Isabel had agreed to Phillips' conditions, despite them being quite restricting, and had been extremely grateful to him for the opportunity, and also to the Commandos for being so open to her joining. Steve and Bucky, however, still seem very displeased by the change to their team's framework, and no doubt are still arguing their perspective. For Bucky to be bored of the meeting and not want to attend; perhaps Bucky is growing tired of the argument, or perhaps he's been sent to try to talk her out of it again before reporting back.

Isabel knows it isn't even because she's a woman – that had been the one part of her she'd thought would let her down, but Peggy had enlightened her. Thankfully, the likes of Peggy Carter have opened the door for females in this type of field, changing the minds of men who have long been stuck in a masculine hegemonic outlook. It all boils down to the fact that she's family and they don't want her to get caught in the line of fire. While she understands their logic, it also infuriates her. She has to watch the two of them go off and put themselves in danger. She's allowed to play the waiting game, but when it's their turn, they can't handle it.

Still, she can't be too sour because she's gotten what she wanted whether Steve and Bucky wanted it or not. Technically she's a part of the team. Technically she's a Howling Commando, even if she won't be fighting. She plans to put her foot down, force herself into their little team circle and plant herself there so she can't be wrenched out _ever_. Once a Commando, always a Commando, and she won't let anyone take away her wings. She's already the winged symbol onto the left sleeve of the combat uniform Peggy gave her anyway, and she can't be bothered unpicking it.

Bucky gets through half of his meal before either of them speak again.

"How are you feeling?" Isabel asks quietly so that the inventor can't hear where he's sitting at his desk, muttering away to himself.

"M'fine," Bucky says through a mouthful of egg. Isabel raises an eyebrow at Bucky, and he swallows his food, thinking more carefully about his answer. "I'm getting there," he decides instead.

"Have the nightmares stopped?" Isabel asks.

The worry about her brother still sits in her stomach of how he is doing after his captivity and his injection with the serum. She stays awake until late some nights, straining her ears to hear for the screaming and crying she used to hear coming from he and Steve's room, but the last few weeks she hasn't heard anything but silence and maybe a little snoring. It's a breath of relief, but it also has her wondering whether Bucky is just hiding it, embarrassed or feeling like a burden.

"I don't think they're ever going to stop, Issy," Bucky says solemnly. "But the rest of it has. The shaking and the vomiting. I think I'm working out how to deal with it."

"Good," Isabel says sincerely. "And the serum...?"

"Still in there, I think."

"I mean the side effects," Isabel clarifies, hitting Bucky's arm to get him to concentrate.

"I think they're about the same as before. I feel stronger, and I swear I'm actually getting bigger without doing any exercise. I can still drink out the whole bar before I feel a buzz. I think faster, process information better. I'm hungry all the time... The usual," Bucky finishes with a shrug of his shoulder.

"I don't think it's the actual effects that you should worry about. I think it's if the effects suddenly go away that we should worry," Isabel notes, looking thoughtful. "We'll keep an eye out, I promise."

"I know," Bucky says, pushing away his plate as he finishes it and chugging down his orange juice.

They sit in silence a moment while Isabel finishes her food slowly, watching Howard at his desk as he scribbles away wildly in a notebook, still muttering scientific jargon to himself. She's savouring the downtime she's having, even if it's only to eat lunch in the laboratory. It feels nice; that is, until Bucky brings up what she'd assumed he'd come in for in the first place.

"Issy, there's actually something I need to talk to you about."

Isabel looks up at him slowly, her chewing stopping. She swallows her food, turning her head to look at him curiously. "Would it have anything to do with the team dynamic you were meant to discuss in the meeting today?" She asks innocently, widening her eyes just slightly.

Bucky narrows his eyes slightly at her, knowing that she knows what he meant by that. "Yes," he admits. "And it wasn't just Steve's idea to talk to you about it, because you know that I agree with him."

"You made it very clear," Isabel says, still feigning innocence with a smile on her face.

Bucky shifts a little, uncomfortable. "I've come to talk you out of your decision to join the Commandos," he announces.

"Is that so? Well, it wasn't so much my decision as Phillips' suggestion that I agreed to. I heard you already took it up with him, though."

"Yeah, we did."

"I'm staying here in London and I'm not going home. I'm joining the Howling Commandos as a second medic and I won't be waiting around here for you all to come home. That's what I told Steve, and it's what I'll tell you. It's my decision and I'm sticking to it," Isabel says with finality crossing her arms in front of her chest. She's sure Bucky and Steve been in cahoots with one another to try to annoy her out of joining.

"It's way too dangerous for you to be coming out into the field with us. It's perilous. It's unnecessary!" Bucky argues, exasperated.

"You know what I agreed to, the rules that Phillips had for me. I won't be going into the field. I'll be waiting on the sidelines _in case_ you need me. _In case_ being he key word. If you all behave and none of you get shot, you may not even need me."

"This isn't a joke, Isabel," Bucky berates, glaring at his sister.

"When did I say it was? I'm serious. You may not ever need me, and that's okay. But at least I'll be there if you do need me. I can save one of you much easier if I'm fifty yards away rather than five hundred miles, or further," Isabel retorts, glaring right back.

Bucky glares for a moment, clicking his jaw in frustration. "You won't be only fifty yards away," he eventually says. "Two hundred at the least."

Isabel pauses, it taking her a moment to realise this is Bucky giving in, accepting that she's a part of the team. She smiles at Bucky, not smugly but in relief and gratefulness. "Well, you'd better get to the meeting and tell them," she says finally.

Bucky nods, shoots her a strained smile, and then leaves the laboratories in the direction of the mess hall, taking he and Isabel's emptied trays with him. Once he's out of earshot and sight, Isabel blows out a breath and leans back in her chair, covering her face in her hands. She's always been quite good with confrontation, but that doesn't mean she likes it.

* * *

Once Isabel settles the issue with Bucky, there's still the issue of Steve.

Not only his inability to accept her as a part of the team, something that Isabel is hoping Bucky will convince him of, but also of the tether between them waiting to be tied; the matter of what happened that night on the rooftop, Isabel and Steve's dance amidst the light of the setting sun and Steve's almost-admission that was rudely interrupted by the needs of the next mission. The memory of that, of being left standing on the cold rooftop, draped in his jacket and left to wait for Steve to return, is also tainted by the fact that the ideal reunion she'd been imagining while he was on the mission was ruined by her later involvement in the mission itself, which Steve'd been opposed to and had caused all the trouble between them in the first place.

The tether; Isabel wants to tie it up, wants to tie up all of their loose ends, and its even more incentive to try to see Steve, despite the fact that she knows he'll try his hand at talking her out of joining the team.

Her confidence is quite skyrocketed after talking to Bucky. Isabel tries to talk to Steve, she really does. She tries to escape the lab and her newfound responsibilities a few times, but Howard is an insane workaholic who barely takes the time to eat and sleep, let alone talk with friends and family. The inventor spends nearly every second of his day in the laboratories and somewhat expects Isabel to be there while he is as well, though he does have some respect for the sleep schedule she'd been intent on keeping from the beginning of them working together. Isabel hopes that once she starts working more with the Commandos she'll be allowed to spend less time cooped up in the laboratories, especially if her and Howard have any sort of breakthrough decoding the serum, something that hasn't happened as of yet.

Isabel has gotten up the time or the courage a few times to find Steve, but he's always been busy stuck in a meeting, attending a conference, filming a newsreel or film advert, or passed out upstairs in his room after a long day.

Isabel eventually grows tired of being turned away from the closed doors of the meeting room by the guard. The night before her birthday, she goes up to Steve and Bucky's room late that night, hoping that Steve will be awake and they can talk, or go for a walk despite the weather. She's getting a little desperate to have an actual conversation with him, not even just to talk about them, but just to talk because she misses him. She doesn't know if she likes admitting it, but she misses him terribly, like she's missing a part of her. Not talking to him or seeing him except glances is almost painful.

Bucky opens the door when Isabel knocks quietly, wary not to wake anyone else in the building. It isn't late late, but it's late, past nine, and in the Army that's bedtime considering many of them are up at ungodly hours of the morning. Bucky opens the door, looking groggy and tussled and sleep deprived, his hair sticking up at odd angles from being against the pillow.

"Issy?" He asks, rubbing a hand over his face. "What're you doin' here?"

"I-I didn't mean to wake you up," Isabel says, quickly backtracking her idea.

"S'okay, I wasn't asleep," Bucky reassures with a yawn, and his appearance says otherwise. "You came t' talk t' Steve, didn'cha?" He asks, leaning against the door frame and staring sleepily at her.

"Uh, yeah. I got a little tired of waiting, figured I might be able to catch him," Isabel says, unable to see into the room around Bucky.

Bucky looks solemnly over his shoulder, revealing Steve's snoring figure on his bed. He's still fully dressed in his Army uniform, shoes and all, as though Steve had fallen asleep standing up and collapsed onto the bed. Maybe he had, Isabel truly wouldn't be surprised.

"You want me to throw a pillow at him and wake him up?" Bucky asks, entirely serious and prepared, grabbing one of the discarded pillows from the floor behind him, thrown off the bed.

"No, don't do that," Isabel says quickly, stepping inside and taking the pillow from Bucky, putting it down on the vanity. "I won't wake him up, he's exhausted. I'll just wait and see him when he's free and conscious," she says, stepping back out the door.

"But it's been, like, a week since you spoke to him. I've barely spoken to him either, but he ain't my sweetheart," Bucky argues.

"And he ain't mine either," Isabel retorts.

"You and I both know that isn't true," Bucky says with a sly smirk.

"Do me a favour, hit yourself with the pillow," Isabel says, leaving with a smug wave.

She hears the door to the boys' room close behind her, and Steve's faint snore hitch as he reacts to the sound, but then the snoring continues steadily. She listens as Bucky flops back onto his own bed, his own snoring just audible again through the door. Shaking her head, Isabel walks to her own room and lets herself inside, empty as Peggy is still downstairs working on God knows what. As Isabel gets ready for bed, feeling exhaustion creep up onto her, she marks another day silently in her head where she hasn't heard Steve's voice.

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **December 23rd, 1943**

The next morning is the morning of Isabel's twenty-third birthday rolls around, she gets herself out of bed at the crack of dawn and heads into the bathroom to get ready for another long day down in Stark's laboratory. She hurries through her routine, wary of the time and the fact that she's slept in longer than she'd meant to, slapping on a face of makeup and taking her hair out of its pin curls, brushing out the tight curls into a manageable style, pinning the fringe up into a victory roll. Once she's dressed and deems herself presentable for the day, Isabel makes her way down to Stark's labs.

She finds the brunette genius face down at a desk, a half-full coffee mug by his elbow, asleep in a puddle of drool.

"Howard, wake up," she tells him, tapping his shoulder lightly.

Howard snaps awake, sitting up like a bolt. "What – Isabel? Is it eight already?" He asks, eyes both wide and sleepy at once as he rubs a hand over his face.

"Yes, a little past actually. Have you been down here all night?"

"Maybe. Yes," Howard mutters, looking around for the clock on his desk and checking it, blinking at it as he tries to read it. "I didn't mean to, though, I planned on going to bed around four," Howard says, letting go of the clock to take a long sip of the now-cold coffee brew in the mug on his desk, wrinkling his nose at it in distaste.

Isabel takes the coffee from him and hands him another she'd made him just before she came into the room, tipping the old coffee down the sink beside them. Howard takes it with a grateful smile, downing half of it at once. "You really should get more sleep. I don't know how you function on three hours," Isabel chimes.

"Alright, Mom," Howard says sarcastically, but he smiles fondly at his friend. "If you must know, I find it hard to get to sleep. My brain doesn't shut off. I'm constantly thinking. Makes it a little hard, even when counting sheep."

"Maybe you need a distraction," Isabel suggests offhandedly.

"Are you offering?" Stark asks suggestively with a smirk.

Isabel chokes on a half-laugh, half-grimace, coughing and laughing at the same time. "That's not what I meant and you know it," she manages, her cheeks red.

"Oh, you meant like meditation or something, right…" Stark says in mock-seriousness. "I'd sleep better at night if we weren't in a war zone and the allied effort wasn't relying on me to produce weapons and decode the super-soldier serum."

"I think we all would," Isabel mutters.

Isabel takes a seat at the desk Howard cleared for her and pulls out her notebooks, her own coffee in her hand. Once it's all set up and opened to the right pages, she goes to the freezers in the corner and pulls out the last blood samples she took from Steve over two weeks ago, the day before they'd left for their second mission as the Howling Commandos.

She sighs, taking out the blood sample. It's still in fine condition, having been sat in a locked refrigerator of sorts in the laboratories. She gets to work on analysing it again, even though she's already done it two weeks ago. She needs to find a distraction.

Isabel doesn't tell Stark or anyone else that it's her birthday, not wanting to be bothered. Staying away from Steve and Bucky has been tiring enough without being bombarded by birthday wishes. Instead, she spends the day in relative tranquillity, working with Stark on the formula.

They come across a small passage in one of Erskine's notebooks that they think may be a part of the serum, though the passage is written in neat French. Isabel only recognises a few words, most of them too intricate for her to decipher. She only knows a few words of French from learning it in school and from hearing Gabe and Dernier talk.

"I know someone who can translate this," she tells Howard, packing up the book and getting off her stool. "I'll get them to Gabe to write it out and I'll come straight back. That way we'll know if it's related or not."

"Sounds good, doll," Stark says dismissively, busy staring at a whiteboard onto which he's written a vast chemical formula on that Isabel has no understanding of.

She leaves the laboratories and looks around the base, searching for any signs of the Commandos. When she finds none of them, she heads upstairs to their rooms, knocking quietly on Gabe Jones' door. The man answers quickly, dressed and ready to start his day after another late night at the Stork Club the night before.

"Oh, Barnes Junior. Come in."

"Hi, Gabe," Isabel says, walking into his room when he steps aside and ushers her in. Dernier sits in a chair in the corner beside a turntable, music humming low around the room. He looks up when she enters. " _Bonjour_ , Dernier."

" _Bonjour, mademoiselle. Vas-tu à la danse ce soir_?"

"What did he ask?" Isabel asks Gabe.

"He wants to know if you're going to the dance tonight. You know, the Christmas one."

"Oh, uh… _Oui, j'y vais_ (Yes, I am). I wouldn't dare miss it," she says with a smile. "Who could live without dancing, wine and Christmas when we're stuck in this hell hole?"

Gabe translates to Dernier, who laughs in agreement.

"So, I hear you've been avoiding our good Captain?" Jones asks sneakily.

"I haven't been–" Isabel says hurriedly.

"I know, you've both been busy and you've barely seen each other. Cap told me. He's a little sad about it, he's kind of been moping around the base the last few days looking like a lost pup. He's been avoiding the labs, too, didn't want to bother you. He was pretty down too when Serge told him you'd knocked on their door hoping to talk to him last night when he was dead to the world."

"I was hoping we could have talked about, well, you know..."

"Yeah, I know. Of course, he wished it upon himself with the way he reacted to you joining the Commandos. Serge, too. Caused a bit of a fuss at the Stork Club when they found out before they stormed out to see Phillips."

Isabel frowns, but she does feel a little pang of guilt. "I'm not stupid, I can make my own decisions about what I do."

"Yeah, you can," Jones agrees.

"Obviously, I know that it's going to be dangerous, but I'm not doing it for that. I'm doing it because I'd rather be there to save one of your lives than be there when you come back injured or too far gone for me to help," Isabel continues.

"I know," Gabe smiles. "It's in your nature to help, just like it's in Cap's. You just have different ways of doing it."

"That's what I thought," Isabel mutters quietly.

"For what it's worth," Jones says carefully. "Myself and the other Commandos will be happy to have you tag along. You're a good nurse. You know a hell of a lot more than Morita, bless him. It'll be comforting to know you're there, too. And I have a feeling you'll turn out to be a great friend, as well."

Isabel smiles at Gabe, her cheeks turning a pale pink. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They both look up, spotting Dernier looking rather clueless in the corner, zoning out of their English conversation. "I really need to learn some more French. Poor Dernier must always feel left out of the group."

"Eh, he'll live," Jones laughs.

"Speaking of French, that's actually why I'm here. Though, thanks for the chat. I've been holding that in a while now, Peggy's great and all but support isn't always her strongest suite."

"Folks back home called me Honest Gabe. I was usually the advice guru," Jones says proudly with a smirk.

"Really?" Isabel asks with a raised brow, chuckling at Gabe's nod. "Alright, then. Good to know. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd do me a favour and translate this? It's written in French and some of the words seem kind of obvious but as you've witnessed, I can only speak very basic French and I want to be sure on what it says before we act at all," Isabel asks Jones, opening the book to the write page and handing it to him.

"Sure," Gabe says cheerfully, taking it from her. She hands him a pencil and he writes the translation on a spare piece of paper, the pen scrawling across the page in messy handwriting. "What is this for?" He asks.

"Oh, just one of Stark's experiments. They're another scientist's notes," Isabel says, unsure whether the Commandos are fully aware of the procedure Steve underwent to make him Captain America. She knows the basics have been made-known publicly, since it was featured in the propaganda film they watched only a few weeks ago, but the nitty and gritty of it all may be a secret.

"For Cap's serum?" He guesses, finishing off the last word and putting down the pencil. "You don't have to hide anything, we all know about it. Cap told us on our first march. He thought we all deserved to understand who we're working beside and why he's capable of what he is. He also told us your part in it all, how you're now working with Stark to try to uncover the formula and method."

"Oh, okay. Uh, yeah. We think it is for the serum. Depends what it actually says..." She takes a seat on the bed next to Jones, reading his note over his arm.

" _Internal ingestion to be taken orally before injection process; stabiliser, prescribed steroids, focus enhancers, electrolytes, antibodies, antigens, hormones, Wakandan Herb."_

"It's a list of ingredients. Vague, but it's a list," Isabel gasps, knowing that it's likely only a few ingredients of the whole formula. Erskine never puts everything together. Isabel takes the book from Gabe, snapping it shut, and hurries to the door. "Thank you, Gabe!" She cheers as she slams the door behind her, running back down to the lab.

She leaves the two men in the room, shaking their heads with a chuckle. " _Dieu, elle est envoyée par le ciel_ (God, she's Heaven sent)," Gabe tells Dernier.

 _"Ouais, elle va courir le capitaine pour son argent,_ (Yes, she's going to give the Captain a run for his money)," Dernier agrees. He leans over and turns the music up a bit louder.

* * *

Howard still stands in the same position as he was thirty minutes ago, biting on the end of a pencil and staring at the chalk board.

"Howard!" Isabel yells, bursting into the lab. "It's a list of ingredients for an oral portion of the experiment. The experiment is divided into three sections, not two; an oral portion, the serum injections and then the Vita-Rays. I didn't know Erskine had Steve take an oral supplement," she says more quietly, opening the book again and showing him the translation.

Howard reads it quickly, his eyes lighting up. "I didn't either," Howard contemplates. "Rogers definitely didn't take it whilst we were in the experimentation room. He must have taken it the day before while they were still at Camp Lehigh. Would've been nice of him to tell us that."

"Well, he probably thinks we already know."

"True." Howard looks down at the list again. "It's vague, we don't know what type of herbs or steroids or electrolytes, but it's a start. Great find," he notes excitedly. Howard takes the book off her, carrying the translated page to his desk and putting it with the other information they've gathered so far – a large folder of notes, methods of the serum's creation and administration, and sketches of the design of the chamber.

"What does Wakandan mean?" Isabel asks curiously, remembering she'd seen the word on the translated page in Gabe's neat handwriting and not understood it at all.

"Wakanda is a place in Africa," Howard explains. "It's a poor country, not very developed. Not many people know about it. It's not surprising Erskine found herbs there. It's also where the vibranium of the shield came from."

"Right," Isabel nods. The country must be so minute, it isn't even on the large map on the wall of the lab.

"What are you still doing here? The Christmas party starts in two hours. You need to go get ready. I suppose Peggy wants to do your hair and makeup for you," Stark tells her, looking up from where he's making more notes.

"But we've had a breakthrough," Isabel protests, though she does presume she should start getting ready. She wants to set her hair again since the curls from that morning are starting to unfold.

Stark shrugs. "It can wait until tomorrow. Unfortunately, there isn't much more we can do with this information without knowing more. It may not even be the whole ingredient list. It sets the parameters but doesn't give us the answer. We need to start consulting the rest of the texts to find more regarding this oral portion of the experiment. Not only do we have to work out what was in the serum vials, but now we have to work out what was in the oral portion." Stark sighs, but he still looks pleased nonetheless. "Go and get ready, I'll see you at the dance."

* * *

Isabel sits at the dressing table in front of the mirror, carefully letting her hair out of his pins and rollers. It falls in thick curls, and she grabs a brush, running it through the curls to settle them into place. She carefully tucks the front parts into small victory rolls away from her face, pinning them strategically.

Peggy stands in the bathroom, putting her last layer of red lipstick on, her hair and makeup already immaculate. She isn't dressed yet, only wearing a dressing gown, her navy-blue dress lying flat on the bed beside a pair of red heels. Peggy emerges from the bathroom, slipping the dress on as Isabel coats her eyelashes with mascara and draws on the edges of her brows with Peggy's dark brown liner, making them a little longer. They're still overly thick, though Peggy had convinced her to pluck them to fit in a little better with the style that's in at the moment.

"Is your hair ready?" Peggy asks, coming up behind Isabel.

"Yes, it just needs hairspray," Isabel mumbles, in the middle of putting on her own red lipstick.

"I'll do it," Peggy tells her, grabbing the metal can. "Close your eyes." Isabel does as she's told, and Peggy shields her face as she sprays enough hairspray onto her locks to hold them in place without them turning to cardboard.

"I can never spray the perfect amount. I always put too much that it goes all stiff, or not enough and the curls fall out," Isabel grumbles, puffing one curl with her palm.

Peggy smirks. "It's an art."

There's a knock at the door then, and Peggy goes to answer. Isabel leans over to turn down the music on their portable radio.

"Ah, the Captain and the Sergeant," Peggy greets, cheekily smirking at Bucky. "How dashing you both look."

"Hi, Peggy," Steve replies. "Is Belle here?"

Isabel pauses, almost embarrassingly, at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, she's just getting ready," Peggy says, inviting them inside.

Steve and Bucky step into the room and Isabel immediately feels a bit of anxiety and guilt settle in her stomach. She's kind of avoided them all week and now they're standing here in front of her like nothing happened. They're dressed in their army best, suits well-fitting and their ties properly flattened against their shirts. They're clean shaven and their hair is impeccable, gelled into style and recently cut. Isabel wonders whether they'd cut each other's hair in the bathroom like they always have to save money.

"Happy birthday, Isabel!" They both cheer, smiling goofily at her. Steve holds a medium-sized present in his hands.

"Oh, thank you guys," Isabel laughs, giving each of them a hug and kissing their cheeks.

"I didn't know it was your birthday! Why didn't you tell me?" Peggy asks, looking a little hurt but also amused.

"I didn't want all the fuss, it's just another day," Isabel laughs, her cheeks blushing at all the attention.

"Well, happy birthday anyway, love," Peggy smiles, giving her a hug of her own.

Steve clears his throat, breaking apart the conversation that's started up between Isabel and Peggy. "Bucky and I got you something," he says, holding out the present.

"Think of it as a joint Christmas and birthday present from both of us," Bucky adds.

"You really didn't have to get me anything," Isabel mutters, already opening the present, saving the wrapping paper the way they've always been told to.

She reveals a cardboard shoe box and her eyes widen. She lifts the lid off to find a pair of expensive-looking, shiny black slip in pumps with a satin ribbon that wraps around the top of the ankle and ties off in a bow. She gasps aloud, picking them up and admiring the feel of them.

"These are so beautiful," she gushes, smiling from ear to ear. She then looks at the inside cushioning at the heel, the French brand name imprinted in gold lettering into the cream-coloured cushion. "These are from Paris. They must have cost a fortune."

"And you'll never find out just how much. But that's not all," Bucky smirks. "Look in your trunk."

Isabel goes to the trunk at the end of her single bed and throws open the leather lid, pulling out a large square black cardboard box, this one bearing a Parisian brand name on its lid as well. She opens the box on the bed, mouth wide as she carefully lifts out a sleeveless evening dress, red as fire with a black mesh material on the underlayer, the material soft and flowing. She drags it out and holds it up in front of her, the gown long enough that it will fall to her ankles, just high enough to show off her new shoes. She holds it against her body and looks in the mirror, swinging it back and forth. It has so much material, it must go against ration laws. Either that, or they paid an absolute fortune for it.

"Oh, my word. I- I can't, it's too much."

"It's not too much," Steve argues, stopping Isabel from putting the dress back in its box, intent on them returning it. He looks at her sincerely, a hand on hers that still clings to the dress. "You deserve them. I wish we could buy you a hundred pairs of shoes and a hundred dresses and whatever else you wanted, but not everyone has the bank account of Howard Stark, and there's rations in place right now, so…" He breaks off with a shrug, smiling goofily at Isabel.

"Thank you," she smiles, hugging the dress to her chest lovingly. "Both of you."

Bucky salutes her comedically, as though he were just doing his duty. "It was Steve's idea."

"It wasn't just my idea–" Steve argues.

"Alright, that's enough," Peggy cuts in. "You two need to leave so us ladies can finish getting ready. We'll meet you down at the dance. Out, out," she instructs, pushing the two uniformed soldiers back out the door. Once they're outside, Peggy hurriedly closes the door, turning back to Isabel. "They have rather good taste, I must admit," she says, admiring the fabric and colour of the dress.

"You didn't help them choose it?" Isabel asks, looking back down at the dress in her hands, the fabric so soft to the touch. She truly wonders how the boys could have chosen something so beautiful without help.

"No, they did it all on their own, I promise. Makes it all the more special, right?" Isabel nods, feeling her eyes getting a little misty. "Now, let's get the dress on you. You're going to be the most beautiful woman in the whole of London in this."

* * *

The SSR Christmas Party is set up to take place in the main chambers of the underground base. The large meeting tables and chairs have been moved to the edges of the room, holding a buffet of snack foods and glasses of wine and whiskey. The various maps and strategy plans lining the walls have either been hidden by hanging sheets of material or taken down entirely, stored in another room. The room looks nothing like an army base, rather resembling a dance hall, the columns of the building separating the room into an area for talking and an area for dancing, equipped with a full band on an installed stage in the corner. Tinsel hangs along the roof, as well as mistletoe hanging from random lights and fixings. A small Christmas tree sits on the edge of the stage beside the band's lead vocalist, a star shining on top of it.

Isabel and Peggy finally make it downstairs, halting in the hallway before turning to corner into the main room of the party. The music is already in full swing and so are the dancers, the women of the SSR already tugged into dances with the soldiers and agents. People are already picking away at the banquet up the back, standing around with disposable plates and plastic wine glasses.

"We're late," Isabel says worriedly, staring at the dancers.

"It's called being fashionably late. It's a good tactic for a woman to use," Peggy reassures.

"Everyone is going to be staring at us," Isabel argues, chewing on her lip nervously.

"That's the point. It's called making an entrance," Peggy says with a smile. The agent reaches into her purse and takes out a tube of red lipstick. She grabs Isabel's chin and moves her head toward her, carefully fixing Isabel's lipstick. "Let's make sure you look perfect for your soldier."

Once Peggy deems Isabel ready, she puts the lipstick back in her clutch purse and then takes a confident step out of the hallway into the chamber, all eyes turning toward her. The dancers take one look at the dazzling Agent Carter and then keep dancing, but the other men, mainly the Howling Commandos, stare as she enters. Peggy notices quickly that Isabel isn't following behind her and doubles back, grabbing Isabel's wrist and dragging her out of the hallway right into the eye line of the mind-boggled men. Peggy strides confidently past the twirling dancers, Isabel trailing behind her, looking slightly uncomfortable. All confidence she'd had when wearing the dress in front of the mirror in her room has gone in a flash.

Howard immediately saunters up to them, looking incredible dapper for someone who probably crawled out of his lab five minutes before coming to the hall.

"Well, don't you look radiant," Howard says, taking Isabel's hand and prompting her to do a spin. "The Belle of the ball!" Isabel giggles, thanking Howard. He then sees Peggy beside Isabel, and smirks at her as well. "And the Angel of the Evening. Peggy Carter, you're a dashing dame."

"Save it, Stark," Peggy says, rolling her eyes, though she smiles at him.

"You know what else I just found out?" Howard asks. "It's Isabel's birthday today. Who would have known, since she never told anyone?"

Isabel laughs, pushing Howard away. "If you know me as well as you like to think you do, you'd have already known it was my birthday."

"Now I just have to buy you a present to make up for it," Howard cheers, moving off toward the alcohol table.

Isabel and Peggy exchange a look. Howard Stark can be exhausting. The two women then proceed through the hall and walk up to the waiting Howling Commandos who stand toward the back of the room, a jovial crowd.

Peggy walks right up to Bucky's side, threading her arm through his. "I think this may be a swell opportunity for our dance, Sergeant Barnes. I'm rather fond of this song," she tells him.

Bucky smirks flirtatiously, but falters. He looks over at Steve beside him, the blonde staring at Isabel with his eyes wide and mouth open, having still not spoken to her. Her attention's been taken by Dugan now, who's asking her about the dress she's wearing, having known Steve and Bucky's plan to buy it for her.

Bucky leans closer to Peggy's ear, whispering, "Can we wait one more moment? I've just got to sort Steve out." She nods, smiling patiently, knowing Bucky has been waiting for this moment for a long time and also wanting the moment for her friends.

Bucky nudges Steve in the ribs with his elbow and Steve turns toward him, looking a bit dizzy with the dame. "That girl's something else," Bucky says fondly, smiling at Isabel who's back is almost toward them, her dark hair now long enough that it hangs down between her shoulder blades. "And you know what you are, Steve? You're an idiot."

"Yeah, thanks," Steve mumbles, managing to draw his eyes away from Isabel to glare at Bucky.

"No, seriously. I can't believe this. You're so slow on the update. She's makin' herself beautiful wearing the dress you lovingly bought her and waiting for you to make the first move and you're just standing there like a doofus with this lovesick look on your stupid face. You lovesick idiot."

Steve's entire face heats up and he stubbornly says, "I am not a lovesick doofus."

"Okay, maybe not a doofus, but definitely lovesick," Bucky allows. "How long are you going to draw this out? How long are you going to wait?"

"I don't want to wait," Steve admits.

"Then don't. You're so dizzy with the dame, you've been blind to every other dish you've ever come across," Bucky barrels on. "You've both been so damn in love with each other for so damn long, I'm surprised you haven't exploded into some heated canoodling session by now. You've got this amazing doll who took a chance on you, who's beautiful and smart and willing to put up with you despite the Captain America baggage you now drag behind you – and I'm not just saying this because she's my sister, I'm saying it because it's true and everyone but you seems to recognise it."

"Steve, if you're waiting for the perfect time, there's no better time than now," Peggy adds helpfully, looking sympathetic to Steve's worried glances. "You've both been so busy and barely spoken the last few weeks. She misses you and you miss her. Both of you are free tonight. There's no meetings or tests or missions. Make the most of it."

Bucky puts a comforting hand on Steve's uniform-clad shoulder. "We're in a war, Stevie. We don't know what tomorrow will bring. You saw that only the other week when you got pulled away from the roof. So why are you hesitating? What are you waiting for now?"

Steve nods at Bucky, seemingly snapping into gear. He squares his shoulders and puff up his chest just a bit more. "Thanks, Bucky, Peg. Go have a good night together, I'll take it from here."

Bucky nods back smugly and doesn't hesitate, taking Peggy by the hand and spinning her onto the dance floor. They immediately start flicking themselves around to the beat, their feet stomping the ground, laughing all along. Steve watches for a second before nodding to himself again.

Steve approaches Isabel slowly, who laughs at a joke Gabe tells her. She does look radiant, to borrow from Howard – red lips, dark hair, pale skin and a burning light coming from inside her. As Steve approaches, the Commandos give him a small salute and a smirk, making their way toward the buffet table and drinks table to give the pair some space.

"Hey, Belle," Steve says quietly from behind her. She spins around to face him, the dress swirling around her body, and her smile seems to light up even more if that were even possible.

"Stevie," she breathes. She hasn't talked to him in so long, just hearing his voice makes her heart flutter. Isabel looks down at the dress, swaying back and forth so that it flicks around like it's been caught in the wind. "I love this dress, it's so beautiful. Thank you so much."

With that she comes toward him, kissing his cheek in thanks. When she pulls away, she laughs, an angelic noise that makes Steve's heart flutter, using her thumb to wipe away the kiss mark on his cheek.

"You look radiant, beautiful," Steve tells her honestly, catching her hand and holding it in his own. Isabel smiles, looking away from Steve as her cheeks blush. "You want to dance? I think I may have gotten the hang of it on the rooftop the other night."

"Yes, I'd love to," she answers, letting Steve lead her by the hand.

As they walk off the Commandos start to hoot for them, already having had a bit much to drink and downing a few more glasses at the drinks table. Steve ignores them and makes his way into the middle of the crowd of dancers so they are concealed from the Commandos. They pass Bucky and Peggy as they go, who've gathered a crowd of spectators as they pull off some impressive moves.

The song is rather upbeat and fast, so Steve and Isabel start off by attempting a jive, Isabel moving elegantly through the steps and dragging Steve behind her, talking him through it patiently. Steve eventually gets the hang of it, swirling Isabel around the room as the steps require and ending the song with a low dip, making Isabel giggle. He lifts her back up, holding her close, and she's panting slightly through her giggles, her cheeks flushed. Thankfully, a slower song starts, their steps slowing to match the beat, and they find themselves swaying together once again.

"Thank God, I don't know if I can learn a new dance yet," Steve laughs, looking flustered.

"You're much better than you used to be. The serum must have helped your dance moves."

They hear the rambunctious laughter of the Commandos over the music and look over, seeing Dugan attempting to sweet talk Private Lorraine in the corner to not much success. She shakes her head no and pulls a face before moving off, leaving Dugan pouting. It's funny, but Steve sickens at the thought of the blonde agent and looks away.

"I'm sorry it's been so long since we've been able to talk. When I found out you'd come by the room and I was asleep, I was pretty disappointed," Steve admits quietly.

"Are you saying I should have let Bucky throw the pillow at you to wake you up?" Isabel chuckles.

"Maybe you could've done it a little nicer," Steve laughs. "I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks."

"Well, that's because you haven't. Not really," Isabel says with a small shrug. "But I get it. You've been flat out, and I've been busy. And I guess a part of me was trying to avoid that inevitable conversation with you. After what happened in France the other week and me joining the Commandos, and our... heated conversation in the hallway afterwards. I was a little scared we'd repeat that, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to fight."

"I don't want to fight, either. I really don't," Steve admits, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I was avoiding it, too. Must you join the Commandos? I haven't been able to sleep at night worrying about it," Steve finds himself saying, reminded of the thought.

"I'm sorry about your lack of beauty sleep, though Heaven knows you don't need it anymore, Casanova. But to answer your question, yes, I must," Isabel replies stubbornly.

Steve starts to protest, his brow furrowing. "Isabel–"

"I can't do much to help from here in London, not until you all come back. I don't really understand anything about the serum, monitoring your progress is the extent of my scientific ability. But I can be a nurse, and a medic. I want to come _with_ you. What if one of you got shot again and you weren't only a twenty-minute flight away? What if the emergency medics couldn't get to you? You could die!" Isabel argues.

"You could die, too, being out there."

"I know," she says quietly. "But I could also save lives. Besides, you'll have my back, and the other Commandos. And maybe even Peggy. I'll be fine."

Steve knows this is true; he'd die before he let anyone lay a finger on Isabel. He tells her this and her face softens just a bit. "I can't promise anything," he still says. "I can't promise that I'll always be able to save everyone, I–"

Isabel hushes Steve, boldly reaching up to put her finger over his mouth to stop his talking. "You aren't in charge of saving everyone, that isn't your duty." She sighs. "Can we just have one night where we don't talk about the war? Where we don't even think about it? We can pretend we're back in Brooklyn at St. John's Parish dancing, just like old times."

"Except I'm two heads taller," Steve laughs, jumping on the conversation change.

"And actually dancing, and surprisingly, you aren't doing so bad," Isabel chuckles. Steve takes a slightly smaller step to the left than he had been so far, accidentally stepping on Isabel's toes and revoking her last comment. She sucks in a silent breath of pain. "Don't apologise," she quickly says when Steve opens his mouth to apologise sheepishly. "I'd rather have you step on my feet than not dancing with me at all."

"Still, sorry," Steve laughs.

"So…" Isabel begins, a cheeky smile on her face. "You think I look beautiful?"

Steve sputters, his cheeks and ears turning red. Then he sees Bucky's face in his mind, thinks he feels Bucky's hand smack the side of his head, and pulls himself together. "You are. You always have been, Belle. I don't know if I've ever seen anyone more perfect."

Then, it's Isabel's turn for her cheeks to heat up, and she looks away shyly. Her hand on his shoulder tightens, then moves further up toward the join of his neck and shoulders.

"Another reason why I was so worried about talking to you was because I was trying to work out how we could continue our conversation from the rooftop without me making a fool of myself," Steve says with a laugh, his cheeks still heated and crimson red. "That was quite silly of me, though, to wait, because I think I found the right partner, too," Steve notes, a wave of courage coursing through him at Isabel's reaction.

Isabel's eyes snap back up to him, her eyebrows raised. She seems to calm after a second. "Why did you wait so long to dance with her?"

"Honestly?" Steve says, holding her just a little bit tighter. "I don't know. I think I was too blind to see what was right in front of me. To see that it was possible. I came up with too many excuses as to why it wouldn't work, why it wouldn't be good for you. But now…"

Isabel is silent for a moment, staring at Steve critically. "I always saw greatness and opportunity in you, Steve. I saw possibility and a future, not just for you, but for _us_. You and me together, it just seemed like it was supposed to be. You didn't need to be plenty rugged and famous for me to see something so clear. I could have been yours years ago."

Steve nods at this, regret written on his features. He licks his lips nervously. "They always say good things come to those who wait, but I've begun to think those who wait are the ones who miss out."

He draws her slightly closer again, if that was even possible. Isabel stiffens slightly in his arms, her heart pounding in her chest, and she wonders whether he can hear it. Her body is pushed almost flush against his own as they continue to sway slowly in a circle. Her cheeks feel like fire, but she forces herself to look into his eyes, and finds nothing but undying love and admiration staring back at her.

"Then why are we still waiting?" She asks, gulping nervously. His face is drawing closer and closer to her own, their noses nearly touching, his head bent slightly to the side to meet hers and overcome to height difference that seems so much more prominent now.

"May I kiss you?" He asks gently, searching her eyes.

She nods in response, her eyes flicking down to his lips. He gently cups her cheek with his palm and guides her lips toward his own, her eyes fluttering shut long before they make contact.

Steve's lips are incredibly soft against her own – warm and solid and comforting. The kiss is lingering and gentle, almost shy, and time seems to halt to a stop, leaving only the two of them in the room. Isabel's hand leaves Steve's shoulder to gently grasp the side of his face while Steve's own thumb runs over her cheekbone as if memorising the feel of her skin against his.

Just as quick as it began, the kiss ends. They pull away slightly, their noses still almost touching, and look into each other's eyes. Isabel begins to smile then, her eyes crinkling and her smile as bright as the sun itself.

"There's that smile I love," Steve finds himself saying, only making her smile brighter.

"I always smile when I'm with you," she tells him.

"Now come on, don't lie. I know I'm a pain in the neck," Steve laughs, bopping her nose for good measure.

"Lucky for you, I'm qualified to treat such pains," she replies with a wink, making Steve laugh again. He groans for good measure.

Steve slowly leans in again and recollects her lips with his own again, still unable to get over the fact that this is happening. Isabel quickly responds, kissing back gently and a little hesitantly, but definitely willingly. Their lips move in sync, as though they'd been sculpted to move in such a way. They pull away and Steve bumps his forehead into her's gently, smiling at her.

"Happy birthday, Belle."


	35. Chapter 34

**34.**

 **London,** **United Kingdom**

 **January 9th, 1944**

Isabel stands by herself in her room in front of the full-length mirror. She's wearing a small sized version of the man's combat uniform – a plain white t-shirt that most likely won't stay white for long, a pair of khaki pants tucked into brown military boots, a pair of freshly made dog tags hanging loosely around her neck. She has a knitted olive-green jumper that isn't regulation clothing but it actually fits, rather than the one Phillips had tried to give her. She's also got a brown leather jacket courtesy of Peggy Carter and a thick dark coat to wear in the coldest months.

She looks at herself in the uniform; the shirt a little too wide, a red cross sewed neatly onto each shoulder to indicate she's a medic. The pants are a little too long but when she tucked them into her boots like the other men do, you can't tell. This is the first time in her life that Isabel's ever worn pants and she's in awe. They're not very tight, and if she puts her legs together they almost look like a long skirt, but mainly she can't get over how comfortable they are. She bends her knees a bit and takes some steps around the room, then sends a poorly executed kick out in front of her. She loves them, and she wishes she could wear pants everywhere she goes.

Isabel eventually stops jumping around in her pants and tackles her hair, wary of the time. She doesn't really know what to do with it. They're going out into the field so it can't get in the way, and she ties it back into a neat ponytail, still wavy from yesterday's curls. It looks a little plain so she adds a white ribbon for decoration, though she's sure she'll lose it somewhere along the line. Finally, she puts a bit of mascara on and some blush so that she doesn't look as pale, still unable to go without makeup. She may be going into a war zone, but it doesn't mean she can't look good.

Isabel stands back in front of the mirror, looking at the finished product. She clutches her new dog tags in her hand, runs the cold metal around her fingers. They had to induct her into the Army for her to be a medic. If she'd been only a nurse, she wouldn't have been required to, but then she wouldn't have been allowed onto the front lines of battle and that would defeat the entire purpose of what she was fighting for. She was also, like the other members of the Howling Commandos, inducted as an agent of the Strategic Scientific Reserve.

Private Isabel Barnes, reporting for duty. She nods once to herself. She's ready. She's doing this. She's going out into battle. She's going to make a difference.

Making her way out of her room, Isabel shuts the door behind her, her pack over her shoulder with some of her belongings inside, including Steve's camera. She knows she isn't going to have a lot of time to fiddle with the camera, but she's heard many tales from her father and Bucky of the comradeship that comes with soldiers, and she thinks it would be nice if she could capture some of that for memory purposes.

Isabel gets into the lift car and travels down into the basement to retrieve her medical kit from the infirmary. She checks its contents and shoves it into her pack, closing it securely. Once she's sure she's got everything she runs up the stairs to the lobby, where the Howling Commandos and Peggy Carter are all waiting to be transported to the airfield. When she emerges from the staircase, the men and lady all turn to look, standing in a circle going over last-minute strategies.

"There you are," Dugan says as she joins the group, a few minutes late thanks to her experimentation.

"A girl needs time," she says, hoisting the pack a little higher on her shoulders.

Steve turns at the sound of her voice, looking a little grouchy. His eyes widen when he spots Isabel's clothing choice. "Are you wearing pants?" He asks, dumbfounded.

"Yep," Isabel answers, looking down at the cargos with a smile. She meets the men's confused eyes again, all of them looking amazed that she's wearing pants. "What? Did you expect me to take down Hydra in a skirt?"

"We've talked about this," Steve sighs. "You aren't taking down Hydra, you're going to–"

"I know, I know, I'm going to sit in a little hidey hole outside the factory just in case you guys need me. Over two hundred yards away, as Bucky specified. I understood the first time," Isabel interrupts, glaring playfully at Steve. "Anyone would think I was the reckless one who has a problem following orders."

* * *

 **?, Belgium**

 **January 11th, 1944**

The Hydra base in Belgium is tall and flourishing, sticking up through the snowy forest like a true architectural marvel. It's almost as big as the factory Steve saved Bucky and the remainder of the one-oh-seventh from all those months ago. Bucky noticeably gulps when he sees it, but no one mentions it. When they get close enough that the tree-line starts to thin out, they stop so that Isabel and Peggy can go their separate way from the main group, waiting on the sidelines for their time to shine.

"Keep your radio on and your eyes peeled. Don't come in unless one of us comes and gets you, or we call for Peggy to bring you down," Steve reminds Isabel, holding her shoulders to keep her attention.

"I won't, I promise," Isabel says. "We'll be fine, and so will you. Good luck."

"Thanks, we'll need it," Steve replies, ignoring them.

She reaches up and presses a kiss to his lips, and the Commandos cheer quietly like children on the playground. He reluctantly let's go off her arms and she moves away with a bright smile, saying a goodbye over her shoulder to the other Commandos. They watch the two women as they disappear through the foliage on the way to their designated waiting point, Isabel with a bit of a bounce to her gait.

"Isabel is way too excited about being here," Jones notes, shaking his head in disbelief at her retreating form.

"I know, she's camp happy," Bucky tells him, shaking his head in sync.

* * *

Isabel and Peggy walk for a few minutes through the dense forest, their feet crunching in the snow, following the map's directions until they're standing adjacent to the Western entry, buried in the tree line. Nearby, they find a tree that's uprooted from the ground, lying on its side as a barricade and hollowed out by years of wear and weather.

"This is good," Peggy says approvingly, kneeling down behind it. Isabel follows. "We can hide inside if necessary, but if not, it's useful to take cover behind," she explains.

Isabel nods, not one to argue since she knows nada, zilch about what they're doing.

They watch the factory through the forest line, eyes just visible over the top of the bark. They can't see much, though, considering it's rather far away and the snow is blurring their vision. Isabel pulls the camera out of her pack while she waits and fiddles with it, snapping a picture of the factory sticking up out of the snowy ground. Once she's satisfied, she sits back, hugging her jacket to her form tightly as the chill sets in now that she's stopped moving. The snow is cold under her, freezing her legs. She's never been more thankful of a thick jacket and socks.

Somehow, even in combat clothes with her hair tied up, Peggy manages to look beautiful and graceful, her red-painted lips turned up into a slight, content smile. Isabel raises the camera again and snaps a photograph of her friend without Peggy noticing before putting the camera away again to keep it safe. Peggy gets out her rifle and takes it apart, cleaning off a few parts of the dirt they've accumulated already. It looks methodical, a certain part coming off here and another going there. Isabel finds herself watching the movement of Peggy's hands, picking up the parts that Peggy puts down on the snow to feel them for herself. Peggy notices her interest, raising an eyebrow.

"If you want to know how they work, just ask," she offers.

"Bucky already showed me how to work mine. He took me to the shooting range so I could practise and work on my shot," Isabel replies, pulling her pistol from her pocket and examining it. "And Howard shows me all of the ones he invents and enhances."

"This one's a little different. It's special. Howard made it for me long before I met you and Steve. It was a gift from him when I first became an agent, not long after I saved Doctor Erskine from his imprisonment within Hydra. Stark and Erskine began working together on the serum, so naturally, Howard was very appreciative of me saving the doctor, or else they wouldn't have been able to work on such a feat. Stark had it engraved, see," she says, showing Isabel the handle, where _Agent Carter_ has been engraved in neat cursive into the metal. "He said, and I quote, "a dangerous lady needs a dangerous weapon". And it most definitely is dangerous."

"How so?"

"You'll see next time we have to shoot someone."

* * *

The Commandos get inside easily, sneaking past the guards at the front and snaking through the yards, made up of masses of tanks and cars. They enter the building through a side door, guns blazing, and make their way into the mass of maze-like corridors that lead the Commandos further into the building.

The Howling Commandos come across the first room of importance within a few minutes of scrounging, a conference room of sorts where a group of men in their dress uniforms sit around a large table, listening intently to one man standing at the front with a map on the wall. Steve bursts in through the door, pistol raised at the men's heads. None of them ever saw it coming.

" _Wir entschuldigen uns dafür, dass wir die Party abgebrochen haben_ (We apologize for crashing the party), _"_ Jones says from behind Steve, raising his own pistol at the other men, who hold their arms up in surrender.

" _Es ist Kapitän Amerika_ (It is Captain America)," one of the men gasps.

"Oh, he knows me," Steve says rather excitedly, moving into the room.

"Not hard to miss. You walk around holding a painted target in front of you," Bucky deadpans. He walks into the room and grabs one of the men by his collar, pushing him to the floor in the corner.

" _Geh runter_ (Get down)," Steve tells the others, one of the few German commands he knows. The men hurry to get down onto the floor, huddling together in the corner. "Jones, ask them if there are any prisoners being held here."

" _Gibt es Gefangene in dieser Fabrik? Verbündet oder nicht?_ (Are there any prisoners at this factory? Allied or otherwise?)" Jones translates.

" _Nein, keine Gefangenen_ (No, no prisoners)," the man in charge says, his voice shaky with fear.

" _Du lügst besser nicht_ , (You better not be lying)."

" _Nein. Es ist die Wahrheit_ , (No. It is the truth)," the man replies.

"There's no prisoners, Cap," Jones translates, satisfied the men are telling the truth.

" _Wofür wird die Fabrik verwendet_? (What is the factory used for?)" Jones continues, getting just a bit closer to the men and making them shuffle backward.

" _Waffenproduktion und ausbildung_."

"The factory is for weapons production and training," Jones translates.

"Okay," Steve says, looking around the room in thought. "Jones, Dernier, stay here with these men. Make sure they don't go anywhere. Anyone else you find outside, bring them in here too. The rest of you come with me," Steve orders, making his way back into the hall.

Jones and Dernier stay as requested, looking over the hostage of Hydra goons sitting around on the ground. Jones speaks to them in semi-fluent German, ordering them all to stop talking, to stay still, that if they scream they'll be shot. They're all quiet, staring around wide-eyed.

"There aren't going to be any hostages or prisoners to find, so we source any intel and then we blow it to the ground," Steve tells those who followed him. There's a hummed affirmative.

He leads the remainder of the troop toward the factory floor, shield raised protectively in front of them, scouring the area. Bucky flanks on his left with his rifle at the ready, Dugan, Falsworth and Morita behind them. They make their way down the corridors, kicking open the doors to their sides and taking out each Hydra goon with a lone bullet. They leave a trail of destruction behind them, bleeding bodies littering the concrete flooring and slumped where they'd sat at desks in offices.

Schmidt isn't here. They've establish as much rather quickly once the factory sirens start blaring and their presence is made known. The Red Skull is arrogant enough to want to confront Steve again if he was here. They see no red-skinned man run to an escape or confront them, and make their way across the factory, past all of the weapons, to a row of offices and infirmaries. They find the main office, the one presumably used by the Red Skull, but all the information has been cleared out, the desks and drawers empty of everything except blank paper and pencils.

"Dammit," Steve hisses. "There's nothing here."

"Then we get out of here," Bucky says.

"Another job well done," Dugan agrees.

"We haven't got out yet," Steve reminds them.

They continue down the hallway further, coming across the security office by a stroke of luck. Steve bursts in and takes out the eight security guards that huddle around the cameras that show the Captain and his Commandos infiltrating their factory. They can't be very good if they haven't bothered to try to stop them. Steve wonders if they were too scared to confront them.

He throws his shield at them and a burst of bullets, sending them all falling from their chairs. The shield embeds itself into the metal of the control panel, leaving a big dent and split. When Steve goes to retrieve it, he sees a range of buttons, but a large red one catches his attention, hidden beneath a glass casing.

"Looks like we don't need Dernier to blow this rig up. Hydra gave us all the tools right here." Steve presses the button and a countdown begins, ticking backward from seven minutes. "Let's get out."

The Commandos hurry back down to the meeting room, their ears aching from the loud blaring of the alarm systems. Hydra agents run around them like headless chickens searching for the exit, desperately trying to get away from the soon-to-be exploding factory. They don't make it far when Bucky and Dugan pick them off with their rifles, each body hitting the ground with a sick thud.

Steve knocks a few away with the shield, throwing it at a particularly large group that make a last-ditch attempt to take down the invaders. The shield hits one and bounces off into the back of another, sending down at least six of the men with one throw. Steve hurries toward the fray to retrieve it, running forward with the shield and knocking the rest into the far wall.

The explosions start then, sending parts of the factory up in hot flames, the heat licking the ceiling above. The factory floor explodes around them, jostling them a little but luckily not hitting them.

Jones crackles over Steve's radio. "What the hell? You blew it up when we were still inside?"

"Sure did. Get out, quick," Steve replies as he kicks an agent away from him, the motionless body flying a hundred meters away, coughing up a lungful of blood.

After a few minutes of firefight, Bucky makes the last shot. He pulls the trigger, the gun aimed at the last remaining Hydra goon in the area. The bullet flies through the air, forcing its way through the soldier's mask and lodging in his forehead between his eyes. He sways and falls backward, still immediately. The mask conceals the damage, but dark red blood oozes out from the sides of the mask, turning the man's neck slick. Bucky walks over and glares down at the goggled mask before he spits on the body.

When Bucky turns back around, there's a coldness to his eyes and to the thin line of his mouth that Steve's never seen before. Steve is looking at him, his expression almost unreadable from underneath his cowl. Bucky doesn't say anything, instead turning around and walking in the direction of the exit.

* * *

Isabel and Peggy watch from their hiding spot behind the tree as the factory goes up in a mass of explosions within an hour of the Commandos gaining access. Peggy doesn't seem to bat an eyelid, but Isabel's jaw drops as the broken slabs of concrete and metal fly into the air, the rest of the building collapsing, slowly crumbling to the snow-covered ground. Isabel has her camera out again, showing Peggy, and snaps another photograph of the burning building. They can feel the immense heat even from this far away and she feels a sickening feeling settle in her stomach. If the Commandos were still inside, that would be hot enough to kill them without the added explosions and fire.

Isabel tears her eyes away toward the entrances to the factory, squinting to see the figures of the Commandos through the smoke and fire. She waits and waits, growing antsy, her view slowly becoming totally obscured by the thick grey smoke that blows toward them in the faint wind. It makes them both cough. Peggy eventually pushes Isabel's head down so that it doesn't stick up over the top of the log. Isabel stays low, waiting and listening.

After a few minutes, they hear the sounds of heavy footsteps and yelling. Isabel freezes, straining her ears to hear over the explosions in the distance. It isn't in a language she understands; it's in German.

"Crawl into the tree," Peggy whispers hurriedly.

Leaving their bags against the trunk, the agent crawls to the other end of the fallen trunk and slips inside easily. Isabel scurries quickly, wiggling herself inside the trunk to hide. It's a tight fit at her end and she almost doesn't make it, her hips snagging on the opening. Her heart starts racing, terrified that she'll be caught by some Hydra agent lying in the freezing snow halfway out of the log like a sitting duck. Finally, she squashes herself inside, thankful they haven't had much food the last few days as they marched to the factory in enemy lines, crawling backward so she's lying inside far from the entrance. She says a silent prayer of thanks that they hadn't gone to opposite ends, as Peggy most likely wouldn't have fit at the end Isabel chose.

Isabel's feet hit Peggy's, who lies the opposite way from her. Peggy's got her pistol raised in preparation, Isabel still armed with the camera; she couldn't bare to leave it out and risk it getting damaged or taken. Isabel forces her eyes away from watching out the end of the destroyed trunk, just enough light filtering in that she can see what she's doing. She awkwardly reaches around and pulls her pistol from her pants' pocket, holding it in front of her face as well, clicking the safety off. It's damp and mossy inside, the bark soft and wet to the touch, soaking their tops and pants as they lay inside.

Seconds later, all around them are a mass of soldier's boots pounding past the trunk along the snowy forest floor in their escape of the factory, blissfully unaware that two influential members of the Allies lie not two centimetres below their feet as they climb over the trunk, their packs sitting on the other side of the trunk. Isabel clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle any noise, the hardness of her breathing and the coughs that threaten her at the suffocating smoke, worried the men will somehow hear despite all the noise they're making. The trunk wobbles dangerously, seemingly threatening to collapse in on them as a few men jump up onto it and push off roughly in their haste.

The men's boots are followed by the sounds of gunfire. There's thud after thud of men hitting the ground, the air filling with strangled and pained screams. Isabel sees one of the men fall to the ground in a heap right in front of her, his masked face staring straight down the bark barrel toward her. She gulps. A rogue bullet embeds itself in the bark above Isabel's head, sticking out of the wood at her, and she stifles a scream, thanking anyone who'll listen that the bark had been thick enough to stop it.

Eventually the footfalls cease entirely, as does the gunfire, everyone either far enough away that they can't be heard or all of them taken down.

Isabel waits, shots echoing through the woods at odd times, before she hears the sound of familiar voices.

"Just our luck that their evacuation path would be right where we told the girls to wait," they hear Bucky mumble grouchily, walking around the area. "Isabel? Peggy?"

Steve calls out too, worriedly. "Belle? Where are you? God, they'd better be okay..."

"We're in here," Isabel replies, her voice muffled by the thick bark.

Peggy easily scurries out her end of the trunk, rocking it worryingly. She stands and brushes off her uniform with help from Bucky, who asks her if she's okay.

Meanwhile, Isabel crawls up toward the top opening slowly as the log rocks, shifted from its original, steady position by the men moving over it. Her shirt snags on a broken piece of bark and halts her escape and she huffs in frustration. She feels a bit claustrophobic, but it's silly considering Steve can probably rip the bark apart to free her with his bare hands.

Steve immediately runs to the sound of her voice and the wiggling fallen tree, his face appearing in the opening. "Thank God," he mutters, relief clear on his face. "Give me your hand."

"I-I'm stuck," Isabel tells him, her voice nearing on hysterical.

She's unable to move forward and Steve's reaching in to grab her but his arms don't quite reach. Isabel reaches around and tries to unhook her shirt awkwardly, unable to move her arms much. She wiggles around, getting more and more anxious with every passing second. Eventually, she ends up just ripping the fabric of her shirt with an almighty tug that smacks her elbow against the wood of the trunk hard. Her eyes water with the pain and she bites her lip to stop from yelling out, awkwardly clutching the bone in her hand.

"Ooh, ouch," Steve says sympathetically, cringing for her.

Isabel takes a second to breathe the pain away and wipe her eyes before she wiggles forward enough to take Steve's offered hand, clutching it tightly. He pulls gently so he doesn't hurt her, helping her shimmy out of the tight fit she's found herself in. She gets her shoulders and hips free, the widest parts, and then Steve pulls her upright as though she weighs nothing, clutching her tightly against his chest.

"You're okay?" He asks, holding her far enough away to flit his hand up and brush her hair from her face and remove a leaf from her shoulder, wiping off a patch of dirt. Steve drops his pack from his shoulder and opens it, pulling out his spare jacket (which he hardly needs considering the warmth of his suit and his increased body temperature), wrapping Isabel up in it tightly to ward off the cold from her now-wet clothes.

"Yes," she replies, wiping the dirt and moss from her white top, ripped at the hem, before clutching her elbow as it aches dully. The jacket warms her immediately. "Just a little dirty. Peggy's a rather good babysitter.

"How'd you know they were coming? You couldn't see anything," Bucky asks, a protective arm reaching out to hover over Peggy's lower back.

"We heard them yelling and running. They were coming toward us quick. We hid just in case they crossed our path, and now I'm glad we did," Peggy says, taking a step closer to Bucky and smiling sweetly at him for his caring gesture.

"Good thinking," Falsworth adds.

"Are any of you wounded?" Isabel asks.

"No, we got out okay this time," Steve replies. Isabel's eyes flick to all of the men, needing visual confirmation. Apart from a few minor cuts and bruises, they're all somehow miraculously unharmed. "We need to start walking, get–"

Steve pauses, hearing something in the woods with his enhancements. He turns around, pushing Isabel behind his back and raising the shield, but doesn't have time to raise his pistol as well before the trio of Hydra agents barrel out of the woods toward them with their own rifles raised.

Peggy acts the fastest, raising her pistol in her hand and aiming a shot at the men. A lone bullet is released - and Steve's vision moves so fast that he can see it flying through the air and he thinks he'd have enough time to dodge it if he ever had to - flying straight into the man in the middle, but when it hits his body, the bullet explodes into a massive fireball, taking down all three men at once and charring the ground and trees surrounding them.

The Howling Commandos stare in shock as the blackened bodies fall to the ground with a thud. Isabel's jaw drops.

"And that's why this beauty is dangerous," Peggy tells Isabel, smirking at Isabel's open-mouth.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky asks in astonishment.

"A little advancement courtesy of Howard. It's a special addition to the gun, there's only ten of those bullets in there. It's awfully handy." She then turns, smirking at Bucky's own open-mouthed stare. "Close your mouth, darling, you'll catch flies," she tells Bucky, patting the underside of his jaw.

" _J_ ' _ai besoin de l'un de ceux_ (I need one of those)," Dernier mutters.

"As you were, Captain," Peggy pushes, looking expectantly at a shocked Steve.

"R-right," Steve stammers, taking another glance at the dead men on the ground and the hundreds of footstep tracks in the snow. "We, uh, need to get away from the factory. Hydra is probably going to be drawn here sometime soon to inspect the damage we've done. We also have a day or so of walking to reach the rendezvous position."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Dugan says, ushering for Steve to lead the way.

* * *

After a few hours of steady walking along the route according to Dugan's map – which even took them through a small Belgium town where they were greeted by the locals – Steve finally slows his pace and looks around at the area they've walked into. The forest is less dense, but still not a clearing. Despite the sparseness of the trees, the canopy above them is thicker than ever, blocking out any view of the darkening sky above and somewhat stopping the snowfall. The ground is covered in a thick litter of fallen leaves and dirt and not a lot of snow, slightly more comfortable and warm for sleeping on.

"Let's stop here and make camp for the night," Steve suggests as the Commandos catch up to him. The Commandos mutter their agreement, dropping their sacks to the ground and getting out their tiny swag tents, setting them up against the trees.

Bucky and Steve take a walk to search the area for snipers and bugs, coming back empty handed. Dugan starts a small campfire in the middle of the area whilst the others use what's left of the low light to erect their tents and set out their sleeping bags on the inside. They all fight for the spot of their tent, wanting to be closer to the fire so that the inside can be warmed by the heat, the unlucky ones stuck on the outsides of the group where it will be colder, particularly as the night wears on.

It doesn't escape Isabel and Peggy's notice that the men leave spaces for their tent right in the middle of the clump where it will be warmest and safest. Isabel puts her sleeping bag inside the door of the tent Peggy helps her set up and then joins the men, who all sit cross-legged around the fire, their rifles right next to them for easy access. There's a space left for Isabel between Steve and Gabe, Bucky and Peggy sitting side by side across the other side of the fire.

The light has disappeared from the sky just visible through the trees, replaced by blackness with scattered grey clouds. The snow seems to have come to a halt, but it's no less cold. Overnight, it'll probably snow again. There's barely any moonlight, hidden behind the clouds. The smoke from their bonfire fills the air and makes them all smell of ash, lingering in their hair and on their clothes. The smoke swirls and disappears into the blackness around them.

The trees surrounding them act as barriers to the light, along with the tents, the illumination of the fire not extending beyond them. The encompassing darkness is ominous and terrifying, feeling as though it closes in on them further as the fire dims before it's prodded awake again. Isabel looks away, trying to concentrate on the people around her.

She looks down to what Steve's doing, his pencil moving across the sketchbook page in the low light. The book is turned on the side – landscape, he calls it. He's sketching the scene in front of him. There's a fire in the middle, and the faces of all the Commandos and Peggy positioned around the fire, Steve only just beginning outlining their bodies.

"So boys, we seen any of the local inhabitants yet?" Dugan asks by way of starting conversations flowing, rubbing his palms together cheekily.

"The Belgiums?" Falsworth asks monotonously, taking a smoke from his pipe, blowing the smoke back out a few second later.

"Oh, yes. The women in that town we passed through were easy on the eye. Looked like they could do with a piece of us, too."

"I was surprised to see they don't look like us at all, which they, no doubt, are eternally grateful for," Falsworth notes. The women had been impeccable well-dressed for people living in a town that was currently ravaged by war. It was a welcome change from what soldiers normally see in local towns – bombed out buildings, destroyed families, dirty, wounded and deceased civilians.

"Not sweaty and dirty and covered in blood?" Jones asks, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

"Exactly."

"What was it Phillips said?" Jones asks. "About the liquor and that? I could go for a pint right now if we weren't in the middle of fuckin' nowhere."

"Language, Gabe," Steve says off-handedly, not looking up from his sketch. The men ignore his comment; Steve, as their commanding officer, is supposed to keep all of the men in line and decent along with Bucky, his Sergeant. Swearing is something that is expected to be kept to a minimum, especially in the presence of civilians, along with the men's appearance and weaponry. However, Steve only gets funny about swearing when there are ladies in his presence, something Sarah Rogers drilled into both he and Bucky from a young age. For Bucky it didn't quite stick, at least not in terms of his sister, but Steve still leads by his mother's example when women are around. Any other time, Steve's got quite possibly the worst mouth of them all, which is ironic considering the innocent perception the media have of him.

"That speech he gave us on our first day on the front?" Morita asks with a laugh, and Bucky snorts as well.

"What speech?" Isabel asks, her and Steve feeling thoroughly confused. Steve looks up from his drawing in interest.

"I'm not sure it is suitable for a woman's ears," Falsworth says carefully, giving Jones a warning look but still wary of Peggy sitting on his left, giving him a dangerous look of her own.

"What bull," Peggy mutters.

"Yeah," Isabel agrees, matching Peggy's unamused expression. "I wanna know, but only in your best Phillips impression. His speeches lose their character without that gruff anger."

"It went a little somethin' like this," Dugan says, sitting up a little straighter, taking on the challenge by setting his face into a severe frown. " _First up, beware the local liquor, which is poisonous. Pure moonshine hits the spot much faster than your city-slicker giggle juice_."

"You got any giggle juice, Monty?" Morita asks distractedly, taking the flask Falsworth hands him.

" _And for those of you contemplating some horizontal refreshment…"_ Dugan continues his impersonation, and the Commandos cheer while Steve's ears turn a furious pink, accompanied by an uncomfortable cough. _"Just be warned. Flies spread disease, so keep yours closed. Those proverbial few moments of pleasure are very likely to leave you with a legacy that is horribly painful, difficult to cure, and may get you sent home_ –"

"Like that would be a problem," Falsworth interrupts. "A few moments of pleasure for a comfortable bed."

"– _to face embarrassing questions from the girlfriend or the wife. However, I know nothing I say is going to discourage some of you, so I'm going to hand you over to Doc Morgan, who has had it all and cured it all._ "

The Commandos dissolve into a fit of laughter, remembering the look on Doctor Morgan's face at the crude joke at his expense. He'd then gone on to explain the lasting effects of sexual diseases, weather-related illnesses, wounds and infections, complete with photographs of the symptoms, a lecture that had made every soldier embarrassed and nauseated.

Peggy rolls her eyes, though there's a smirk playing at her lips. "You men are all the same."

"So are women," Dugan argues. "Men have been trying and failing to understand the fairer gender for thousands of years."

"And no one's ever come close," Morita adds.

"Except me, of course," Dugan continues. "And maybe Barnes over here. I'll let you fellas in on a little secret, what I see as most efficient – buy 'em a diamond and give 'em a house and they'll love you a long time. And most importantly, they'll be happy. A happy wife equals a happy life."

"Women are not that shallow," Peggy argues, her face set in a stubborn frown. "And it most definitely isn't all about money."

Isabel looks a little guilty and gives Steve a meaningful sideways glance, then looks back to Dugan.

"Perhaps you should stop assuming things about the opposite sex, Private Dugan, and instead ask one a few questions. It may get you further in your research than mere observation," Peggy suggests.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot I was talking to the experts," Dugan retorts sarcastically, stealing Jones' cigarette and taking a whiff.

"We're women, you kind of are," Peggy points out. Dugan waves her away dismissively, and Peggy takes a deep steadying breath, muttering something about Dugan being a pain in the neck that makes Bucky snort.

Eventually, Jones, Falsworth and Dernier veer off from the main group, involved in a heavily translated conversation. Jones reaches over and plucks his cigarette back from Dugan before the moustached-man can smoke it down to a stub, never taking his concentration off the conversation as he translates between Monty and Dernier. Dugan follows Jones' attention to the conversation, his face lighting up in a smile.

"What are you guys talking about over there? Edith Piaf or somethin'?" Dugan asks.

"No, we were discussing our reasons for joining the war effort," Jones answers.

"Now there's a topic I'm interested in," Dugan says. "Let's discuss together. I'll start. I joined the war because I hated my job in the circus and I wanted to do something different."

"You were in a circus?" Steve asks curiously. "Doing what?"

"I was the ringmaster. Not bad at it either. That's what the moustache was for," Dugan explains, running a finger along it. "Absolutely hated it at first, but it grew on me. Couldn't bear to be bare of it after a while, even after I quit the circus. Just like your spangles, Cap."

"Well there you go," Falsworth says. "I never would have guessed it."

"Sometimes I think I miss being in the spotlight, having all the eyes on me around the circus tent as I introduce the next act. I loved travelling between cities and towns, performing for people and lifting their spirits despite the Depression. We'd set up our tents and roll out our attractions…" Dugan trails off with a longing look in his eyes. "But then I remember I'm a Howling Commando, always in the limelight behind the great Captain, constantly moving from one hideout to another, rolling out a new act with a machine gun. Life doesn't really feel much different, only with the added aspect of possibly being blown up at any moment. Feels a bit like I came back home."

"Sure, if that's how you want to think of it," Morita laughs.

"That wasn't the only reason of course. It ain't called "khaki whacky" for no reason," Dugan brags, pretending to shine his badge with his knuckles. "Girls go wild over a man in uniform."

"Yeah?" Morita asks.

"In your case I don't think anything would help, but you may as well give it a go."

Morita laughs, punching Dugan on the shoulder playfully.

"Another failed attempt by Dugan to entice women," Isabel laughs, shaking her head at the man. She doesn't admit that Dugan's actually right – a man in uniform is irresistibly attractive. Though, that may only be one man in particular for her.

"Why'd you come then, Baby Barnes?" Dugan retorts.

"I just followed Steve," Isabel says easily, leaning against his side. "He was comin' over here, and I figured I'd be a lot less lonely if I came, too."

"And, we all know why Steve came over here, apart from being chosen for that damn serum," Bucky inputs. "To satisfy his thirst for adventure, his overbearing quest for justice, and to fulfil his status of having the "self-preservation of a snowball in hell", as Isabel kindly put it in one of her letters," Bucky says through his exasperated laughter.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Steve grumbles.

"Don't even deny it. It's both an admirable character trait and your most pressing flaw. You just can't help but do what's best for everyone else. You're always so moral and just, Stevie. Does it ever get cold on the moral high ground?" Bucky asks in a serious tone.

"Peggy, push him over for me," Steve asks of Peggy.

Peggy makes due with the request, pushing Bucky backward onto the grass. He sits up again, laughing, not even looking phased by just getting a back full of snow.

"Actually, interesting story regarding Steve's self-preservation," Peggy offers.

"Hit us," Dugan says with a smile.

Steve groans.

"So, Steve is at basic training, keeping up with the PT with everyone else. They're all doing jumping jacks, sweating and puffing. Doctor Erskine, God rest his soul, is trying to convince Colonel Phillips that Steve is the best choice to receive the serum in the experiment. But the Colonel wanted to choose a man named Gilmore Hodge – sure he was strong and tall and he knew what he was doing, but he didn't have the heart that Steve did. To prove his point, Phillips throws a dummy grenade into the mass of training men without actually informing them it wasn't a live grenade. Hodge and all the others scramble away, including myself, but Steve–"

"He jumped on it, didn't he?" Bucky cuts in, looking at Peggy with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, he did," Peggy replies with a surprised expression. "To mi–"

"To minimise the blast so that it wouldn't hurt the others? Yeah, figures," Bucky mutters, rolling his eyes and taking a swig from Falsworth's flask. He's just so done.

Beside Steve, Isabel raises her eyebrows, turning to him with a pointed expression. "You jumped on a grenade?" She says, her voice surprisingly even.

"It wasn't a real grenade," Steve protests.

"Doctor Erskine said something about your act of self-sacrifice. I didn't realise that meant you jumped on a grenade..."

"It was a dummy grenade," Steve iterates.

"But you didn't know that, Steve," Isabel shoots back. "What if it had been real?"

"I was jumping on it because I didn't think I'd be the one to get chosen for the experiment. I figured if I could minimise the blast, it might have saved the person who was going to be chosen for the project," Steve explains. "There were also others around, so many agents and soldiers. I couldn't stand for something to have happened to them when it could have been averted."

"Which is exactly why you were chosen," Peggy notes.

"You could've died!" Isabel cries, still stuck on that fact.

"There's lots of times I could have died, Belle–"

"Not comforting," Isabel hisses, glaring harder, looking absolutely murderous in the red light of the fire.

Bucky starts to laugh then at Isabel's furious expression and Steve's sheepish, rather fearful frown. Steve actually shies a little bit away from Isabel, who crosses her arms and pouts at him. Steve knows this conversation isn't over.

"Alright, back to the question because I'm quite intrigued," Peggy pushes, trying to save Steve from his inevitable questioning. "What about you, Monty?"

"Patriotic duty and all that," Falsworth answers. "Been in the fight since the day England joined. Felt a little too close to home to have another war just over the horizon."

"Fair enough. Jones?"

"Honestly, I wanted to prove that I could fight just as well as any other man, no matter the colour of my skin," Jones admits. As soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes widen and he looks at those around him worriedly as though expecting backlash for his comments. Instead, he meets immense sympathy.

"And you definitely have, Gabe. You should be extremely proud of your efforts. You're a credit, not only to the African-American people, but to the United States," Steve tells him sincerely, leaning around Isabel to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Agreed. Despite everything people have done to you guys, you all fight just as hard for freedom and equality. It's an honour to serve beside you," Dugan adds seriously.

"A lot of us wouldn't be here without you," Falsworth mutters.

"Thanks, fellas," Jones says, inconspicuously wiping a tear from his eyes. No one says anything, instead turning to Dernier. Jones repeats the question to him, his voice only shaking slightly at the beginning.

" _Les allemands ont envahi mon pays. Je n'avais pas d'autre choix que de me battre ou de vivre sous leur contrôle," Dernier says sadly. "J'ai quitté ma famille à la maison, nous vivons à Marseilles. J'ai promis que je ne reviendrais pas avant que les Allemands aient été refoulés dans leur pays ou jusqu'à ce que je rentre dans un cercueil_."

Jones stares at Dernier for a moment, before interpreting. "The Germans invaded my country. I had no choice but to fight or live under their control. I left my family at home, we live in Marseilles. I promised I would not come back until the Germans were driven back into their country, or until I got into a coffin."

Everyone silently looks at Dernier, who pulls a photo from his pocket, holding it out to Isabel. " _C'est ma famille_."

Isabel sits up from under Steve's arm, reaching to take the photo. It's grainy and grey scale, showing a beautiful woman, no older than forty, with light hair styled in a chin-length bob of barrel curls, a smiling blonde baby bouncing in her lap. Isabel smiles, showing Steve the image. " _Elles sont belles_ – beautiful," she tells Dernier, handing the image back. He looks at it longingly before pocketing it again.

Isabel moves back to Steve, grabbing his hand in hers. Bucky smiles at them over the fire, not wanting to look like a creep watching them but feeling so incredibly happy that they've finally followed their hearts rather than their brains. There's not a lot of things to look forward to and be grateful for in a war, apart from being thankful for still being alive, and Bucky finds himself thankful that at least his baby sister and Steve have something else.

"What about you, Serge?" Dugan asks, steering the conversation away from Dernier's rather solemn tale and breaking Bucky out of his thoughts. "You seem like the type stupid enough to sign up for this shit like the rest of us were."

Bucky pauses. "Actually, I was drafted." Steve's eyes snap up to meet Bucky's, shock on his face. Beside him, Isabel looks away guiltily. "First mass wave of draftees after voluntary enlistment died down. Got the letter in the mail a week after they announced it. Didn't have a choice."

"You told me you enlisted," Steve says accusingly.

"I didn't want you to be upset. Didn't know how to tell you that I was being made to do the one thing you wanted most," Bucky mumbles with a shrug, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "It's funny. Now that I'm here, I've grown used to it. Before I left home, I thought I'd never get back again, was sure I'd die out here all alone in some trench. It was my worst fear. Now, it's not the dying I'm afraid of. More the fact that I don't know if I _could_ go back home again. Don't know if I could ever get used to not being in the fight."

Over the fire, Isabel watches Bucky carefully, pain written on her features. She realises, in that moment, that she doesn't really understand everything Bucky's going through, and he isn't planning on telling her without a push. She tries to catch his eyes but he looks away, staring at the fire as it flickers in front of him.

"Just feels like it's all too different now to ever go back," Bucky mumbles. He shrugs again, staring into the fire to avoid everyone's eyes. "I dunno."

"They shoulda learn from the first war that it does nothing except rip soldiers from their families, starve 'em and scare 'em, kill of their friends and family, and take away their innocence, with maybe a few lost limbs along the way," Dugan says solemnly.

"I'll drink to that," Falsworth agrees, lifting his flask to his lips and taking a long swig before handing it around the group. The Commandos all nod in agreement and take their own sips, a silence settling over the group.

* * *

Finally, as the night grows later, the fire fizzles out into a dull speck of light and then extinguishes altogether, leaving only a small streak of smoke and saturating the camp in darkness. Dugan offers to take the first watch, staying in the middle of the camp by the makeshift bonfire. Everyone else crawls into their tents that they share with one or two others, settling down to sleep. Steve stays up longer than anyone else, conversing quietly with Dugan, their voices only a whisper.

The ground is uncomfortable through the bottom of the tent, twigs and rocks pressing into their backs, but after days of walking, it's a welcome release. As soon as the warmth in the air of the fire diminishes, everyone's teeth start to chatter from beneath their swags. The men quickly unbutton their sleeping bags into larger blankets and share with the person in the tent with them, putting the second over the top so that they have two layers of warmth. They sleep close to one another but none of them joke around about it, too cold and exhausted to protest the added body warmth. Luckily, the tents block the hammering wind outside, the gusts travelling steadily through the trees.

Isabel crawls into the tent she was meant to share with Peggy, freezing when she sees that Peggy isn't alone. Bucky's sitting in there with her, his own sleeping bag around him to fight the cold.

"I-uh, sorry," Isabel mutters quickly, eyed widening.

"Oh, sorry Is," Bucky says, smiling shyly at her, and Isabel isn't sure if Bucky's ever smiled shyly in his life. "We're just talking."

"Okay. Um. Are you, uh, sleeping here?" Isabel asks quietly, her voice almost hopeful. She knows how much Bucky likes Peggy and how much the feelings are reciprocated, so the chances are high. And neither Bucky nor Peggy seem like the type to care about societal norms.

"Uh, if that's okay with you?" Bucky says quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"You sure? If you don't want to sleep next to St–"

"No, no, it's fine," Isabel reassures awkwardly, climbing back out of the tent equally as awkward. She trips a bit on the fabric outside of the tent, stumbling a bit backward. She hooks a thumb toward the tent Bucky was meant to share with Steve, acting as though she hadn't just fallen onto her bum in the snow. "I better take this," she says, grabbing her bundled up sleeping bag from the corner of the tent by the door and shoving it under her arm. "I'll just, uh, go. Uh, sleep well."

"G'night, Isabel," Bucky says after her with a chuckle.

"Night," she says, closing the tent up for them, her cheeks hot.

"She's very accepting," Isabel hears Peggy say to Bucky in surprise.

"She just wants me and you to be happy. She doesn't really care about stuff like that," Bucky replies with another content chuckle. "Issy gets all cute when she's nervous."

Isabel's cheeks blush furiously, particularly against the freezing air outside, and she smacks her hand against her forehead, berating herself for being so awkward. She walks quietly over to the free tent and crawls inside, huddling down in her sleeping bag. Without the warmth of someone in the spot beside her, Isabel starts to shiver. She huddles down deeper into her coat and sleeping bag, only the top of her head visible, but still can't get warm enough in the freezing temperatures, feeling as though her feet are turning to ice in her thick socks and boots. She braves the cold for a moment, unzipping her sleeping bag and fanning it out as a large blanket before hastily grabbing Steve's from the corner where he's thrown it and unzipping it as well to make two blankets. She pulls his over her too, feeling a little warmer with the extra layer.

While the Commandos fall asleep in seconds, used to falling asleep in uncomfortable places and doing so on command, Isabel finds she can't, laying quietly with her eyes closed, trying to clear her mind. All she can think of is Bucky's confession from earlier. She'd known he hadn't been quite the same since he returned from his captivity, and she didn't expect him to be. No one could be the same after such a traumatic experience. And he now carries a reminder of it in his system that he doesn't understand, a serum that has permanently changed him. The fact that he doesn't know if he can go home terrifies her. That someone could feel that distanced from their life, from the life he'd been so scared and hesitant to leave, is frightening and disturbing. In just a few months, the war and Hydra have managed to wipe out an entire part of Bucky. She wonders whether he'll ever get that part of himself back, whether he'll ever feel comfortable away from the fight, back in society with a job and a house and kids. She sincerely hopes so, because those were always the things Bucky wanted.

She says a little prayer into the silence, for Bucky and for all of them, and she directs it to God in both of the ways she knows Him, in both of the languages and using both of the prayers she knows. She knows that, as a Jew, she's supposed to pray three times a day; morning, afternoon, and evening. But Winifred never told them they had to pray, never imposed it on them, and George never made them say grace or pray before bed except on special occasions. Her voice shakes and she isn't quite sure what to say, but she's sure this won't be the last time in her life, or even in the next few months, that she'll pray and she's sure it'll get easier. After all, most things get better with practise.

Isabel finishes her thoughts and prayers and tries to sleep, burying down further into the sleeping bags. However, the darkness keeps her awake and makes Isabel's imagination run wild. She can barely see anything inside the tent, and outside she can see faint shadows of the trees above that she can't help but imagine aren't trees but people. She sees the Red Skull in her mind, a picture painted by Steve's description and the drawings he'd done in their free time. She sees herself lying on a medical cot, the Red Skull pumping her with serums and medicines and her screaming the way Steve had in the experiment chamber, the way she expects Bucky did. The thought makes her feel physically sick.

Eventually, Steve leaves Dugan alone, sneaking silently over to his tent and climbing inside, zipping it back up behind him. He props the shield up against the side of the tent for easy access before climbing into his sleeping bag and lying down. Isabel relaxes once Steve's there, his body heat radiating over to her. She finds she can't even open her eyes to see him, the exhaustion taking over. Within minutes, she's nearly asleep, but a small huff from Steve beside her jolts her awake again. He sighs a little again, and takes his arms out of the sleeping bags, and Isabel isn't sure if it's because he's hot or restless.

Isabel slowly reaches over and touches his arm to ask him what's wrong. Steve jolts a mile into the air, frightened by the movement and by the frozen temperature of the hand. "Jesus, Buck, you scared the shi– Wait, Isabel?" It takes him a moment to realise the hand is small and dainty on his arm, fragile almost, missing any signs of physical labour like callouses and roughened skin.

"Hi," she whispers back with a laugh.

Steve looks over, peering through the darkness that his eyes quickly adjusted to, and when he actually looks it's so obvious its Isabel and not Bucky. She's much smaller, after all, frowning at him through the darkness. "Wha– Where's Bucky?"

"He's sleepin' with Peg," Isabel tells him easily. She tenses a little bit then, pulling her hand back from his arm. "I hope this is okay. You know, for you. Because if it's not, I can go kick Buck out–"

"Belle," Steve says quietly, stopping her rambling. "It's fine. I promise."

"Okay, good. It's too cold to get up now."

Steve rolls onto his side and Isabel forces her tired eyes open to peer at him. Her eyes adjust very slowly, but eventually she finds him wide awake and looking at her worriedly, his face mere inches from her own.

"I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep," he whispers to her, but he doesn't lose that worried expression.

"I'm trying," Isabel whispers stubbornly. "I feel like I'm freezing to death."

In answer, Steve carefully grabs Isabel and pulls her closer to him, encircling her in his arms. Her whole body shakes against him and he holds her tight, right up against the warmth of his core. She snuggles into him, reaching one hand under his arm around his side and pressing her freezing hands against the skin of his back underneath his uniform, making him flinch while she giggles. Eventually she warms up, her cheeks getting a little flush to them, and she settles down to sleep.

"Why can't you sleep?" She asks quietly.

Steve sighs, but feels himself relax as she removes her hand from his back and takes his hand, rubbing small circles on the back of his palm. "The usual," he says. Isabel nods. "I'm sorry for jumping on the grenade at boot camp," Steve adds.

Isabel sighs, looking a bit exasperated. "As long as you don't jump on one now, we'll be okay."

"I won't. I can just slam my shield down on top of it now," Steve says.

"Or maybe you can try to steer clear of grenades in general. It's probably for the best, especially for Bucky and I's sanity." She sighs loudly, shuffling a little bit closer to him, if possible. They're practically flush against each other, and Steve's cheeks heat up again. He berates himself internally, forces himself to calm down so he can sleep. "As for going to sleep, just close your eyes and think of somewhere else," she tells Steve, following her own advice.

Steve watches her a moment longer as her breathing deepens and she falls into a peaceful slumber. He lets his own eyes close, and finds his mind wandering toward the Grand Canyon. It's a long shot, since he's only ever seen it in pictures, but it seems to be the way his imagination is sending him so he lets it, hoping it will also lead him to sleep. He imagines himself sitting on the edge of the Canyon, cavernous and terrifying below with seemingly no bottom. But it's also beautiful, a wondrous mystery or nature. The red rocks beneath him and on the horizon glow in the light of the harsh afternoon sun. In his arms is Isabel, her dark hair blowing lightly in the breeze, her skin warm and glowing in the healthy heat of a sun-soaked landscape. He tightens his arms around her as she sits between his legs and leans against his chest. He's the size he is now, free from health problems, and most importantly, they're both happy and safe.

Steve doesn't know at what point he fell asleep and at what point the image of them at the Grand Canyon transitioned from a product of his imagination into a dream, but he jolts awake when Dugan shakes his shoulder three hours later, leaning through the door of the tent to wake Steve for his shift, giving Steve a smug smile at the sight of Isabel sleeping in his arms.

Even as Steve sits, his ears listening for any approaching enemy footstep and his eyes scanning the forest, his hands busy polishing the rifle, he can't get that feeling of freedom out of his mind. His hands can't forget the feeling of holding Isabel, or the feeling of the red dirt beneath them and the hot wind in his hair as he sits on the edge of the expanse.


	36. Chapter 35

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Sorry for the long break, the last few weeks have been hectic for me. I hope everyone had a lovely holidays and enjoyed their time with friends and family. Where I live in Australia we've been in a heatwave the entirety of the Christmas break so we've been sweltering. I'd just like to thank you all for so many views, reviews, favourites and follows. It means the world to me. Hopefully we can get back to a somewhat regular posting schedule from now. Here's a partly fluff chapter for you all, but there are some deeper story plots such as the impact of the Great Depression and Steve's acclimation to being Captain America in here as well. Happy New Year!

* * *

 **35.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **February 14th, 1944**

Isabel is in the change room in one of the small dress boutiques along Oxford Street in London's city centre, trying on a new navy-blue dress that Peggy's picked out for her. She slips it over her frame and fastens the buttons at the back, zipping it up. It's got a high laced neck and sits nicely over her hips, hugging her legs before stopping just below the knee. She does a little twirl in front of the mirror before emerging to show Peggy, who sits on the small seat outside the door.

"What do you think?" Isabel asks.

"I love it. That colour looks nice on you," Peggy says, smiling at her friend.

"I like it, too," Isabel decides. "I'm going to get it."

"Treat yourself," Peggy agrees. "There's no reason why a girl can't look good, even if she is fighting a war."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" Isabel exclaims through the door.

Isabel emerges a few minutes later in her own outfit for the day and goes to the register to pay. Just as she's about the pull the cash from her purse, still struggling to grasp the English money, Peggy sneakily hands over the wad of bills to the cashier. "Keep the change," she tells the woman.

"Uh, what?" Isabel stammers.

Peggy picks up her bag for her and leads her from the shop. "Howard was the one who suggested this shopping trip. He's funding it."

"I can't take Howard's money!" Isabel protests.

"You aren't taking it from him, he's giving it to you. It's a gift," Peggy reassures. She looks at Isabel beside her for a moment. "You have a real thing about people buying things for you, don't you?" She asks critically.

"Yes, I do. I grew up poor, money was hard to come by. We had to work real hard for our money and it never went very far. I appreciate the value of the dollar, and I don't like people just giving it to me," Isabel argues.

"Fair enough, but you don't need to worry about Howard. The man's a millionaire. I'm sure he can spare a few dollars to buy us new dresses," Peggy answers. She ponders for a moment. "My family was rather well-off, I guess. We never really had to worry about money."

"Not even in the Depression?"

"No, not really."

"Lucky," Isabel mumbles.

"Yes, I suppose in that way I am. But I never realised it until you've just brought it up, so thank you for that," Peggy notes.

"You're welcome, I guess," Isabel mutters. "Speaking of bringing things up… You and my brother, huh?"

"I should have known this conversation was coming," Peggy chuckles in embarrassment.

"I walked into the tent while you two were having a deep and meaningful and he gave me those puppy dog eyes to let him sleep in there with you. I'd have to be pretty dumb to miss that," Isabel tells her, raising her eyebrow. "Besides, Peg, he's been telling everyone he talks to that you guys are sweet on each other. He came to find me specifically the other day to tell me that you had accepted his offer to go steady."

"I didn't say yes to going steady, I said yes to dinner," Peggy argues stubbornly.

"Well in New York, that means you're goin' steady. And to Bucky it means that, too."

"Huh," Peggy says, raising her eyebrows. "Can't a man and a woman just have dinner?"

"Well yeah, but not if they're sweet on each other like you two clearly are," Isabel laughs. "I'd like to say I'm surprised he's got his heart set on you, but I'm actually not. You two are good together. And it's about time. I think Bucky's had his mind made up since he met you at the Stork Club that first night."

Peggy blushes slightly, but she hides it well, as well as hiding the beaming smile that threatens to appear on her lips. "When we spoke of dancing, yes. I'm glad we got that dance at Christmas. It sort of… cemented it. Us, I mean."

"Peggy Carter, are you rambling?" Isabel laughs, staring in awe at her friend because Peggy never rambles. Ever.

"Of course not," Peggy replies easily with a small smile.

"You know, Buck was a real ladies' man back home. He always treated 'em nice but he could never choose just one. I'm sure Bucky was trying to treat every girl in the city to at least one date with a gentleman or something. He probably would've done it easy too, had he not shipped out. It used to grate Steve real bad because all Steve ever wanted to do was the find the one."

"Sounds like an interesting way to treat women," Peggy says with a laugh.

"Agreed, but everyone and their mother loved him, so it can't have been such a bad thing," Isabel replies.

"Interesting. You know, I can see that. He's a real flirt, even with the cook in the mess hall."

"That's just Bucky. I think it comes naturally, like breathing," Isabel tells Peggy. "I'm just glad he met you. Maybe it will settle him down, you know? Mama would be so pleased if he came home with a woman one day."

"I look forward to it," Peggy says quietly with a sappy smirk. "Your brother is a good man. He's also rather persistent," Peggy observes, looking contemplative.

"Tell me about it."

"Because of that, I'm rather intent on playing hard to get a little longer. See how long he can hold out for. That way, the end prize will be all the more satisfying."

"Do it," Isabel laughs. "As much as Bucky's a gentleman, he's never had to deal with rejection from a woman, or even just waiting. Back in Brooklyn, they all jumped at a date with him. He needs to be knocked off his womaniser pedestal just a few notches. You should've seen him moping that first night in the Stork Club," Isabel giggles at the memory. "All sad like a kicked puppy. He told me he didn't like to play childish games of tag and chasey, but I think you can let him chase his tail a little while longer."

* * *

"Why are we going up to the roof?" Isabel asks, following Peggy up the multiple staircases.

The Brit walks confidently, not turning around to face her friend when she answers, "I believe Howard has an invention hidden up here he wants you to see. He's been working on it for a long while."

"I don't understand why Howard always shows me his inventions. They're fascinating, sure, but I have no idea how any of them work and I don't think I can truly appreciate them the way he does. I'm not a scientist or an inventor."

"Howard comes from the Stark lineage. He's a terrible show-off and he loves the attention. What's better than that attention coming from a pretty female, even if you aren't attainable for him?" Peggy says easily.

"Right, didn't think of that. And why did you insist on me wearing this new dress if I was going to be seeing one of Stark's inventions? There's a high chance it will either get ripped or burned, depending on what he's come up with," Isabel continues, looking suspiciously at her British friend.

"You'll see," Peggy replies. While Isabel can't see her face, she can hear the cheekiness in her voice, making Isabel narrow her eyes even more.

They eventually come to the roof access, a sign on the door reminding people not to emerge onto the roof after dark during the blackout. Peggy pushes the door open, stepping out easily into the sunlight that has surprisingly appeared through the clouds. It's still freezing, only just coming out of the harsh winter, but the days are starting to get slightly warmer and the snow is beginning to slow, melting just as it hits the ground. The day isn't windy, thankfully, as the two girls step out onto the concrete of the roof.

Isabel looks around, not seeing the famous inventor or any of his contraptions. "Peggy, there's no one here," Isabel says, turning back around to find her friend in the doorway of the roof access, attempting to sneak away. "Peggy?"

"Just because Sergeant Barnes and I are playing chasey, doesn't mean you need to," Peggy says cryptically before she closes the door behind her, the lock clicking shut.

Isabel turns back around to look back out at the roof, wondering whether Howard is actually on the roof. Nevertheless, she walks around slowly, not entirely surprised when she sees Steve standing on his own looking out at the London rooftops around them, looking dapper in his army uniform.

"Steve?" Isabel asks in confusion.

Steve spins around, his face instantly lighting up at the sight of his girl. "Belle," he smiles, quickly walking over to her. He takes her in his arms and presses his lips to hers, sweet and delicate.

"Hi," Isabel breathes when Steve pulls away, smiling up at him. "What are you doing up here? Peggy told me that How… Oh," Isabel laughs, the situation finally falling into place. "I knew there was something fishy about all this. It was just a plan to get me up here without expecting anything."

"One point to you," Steve jokes. "Turns out I can successfully plan things other than missions."

"I didn't doubt that," Isabel laughs. "So, what is this, exactly?"

"It's a date," Steve says. He nods his head to their left where there's a picnic rug laid out neatly on the ground, another rug folded to the side of it, and a wicker picnic basket beside that.

"What?" Isabel laughs.

"It's a little hard for us to go out for a date considering how often Phillips needs me and how the Commandos usually tag along to the Stork Club, but the Colonel promised me a few hours alone with you as long as I was close by. So, this will have to do. And also, there aren't any paparazzi up here trying to get a picture of me."

"It's perfect," Isabel smiles.

Steve pulls his hand out from behind his back, handing her his camera. She goes to the edge of the cement wall and he helps her adjust the controls before she takes a few pictures of the London skyline, out over the River Thames. Then, Isabel makes Steve stand at the cement wall, forces him to smile, laughs at his expression as he smiles straight into the sun, squinting. Steve tells her it's her turn, taking the camera from her. Isabel poses away from the sun, looking over her shoulder at the skyline. Steve takes a picture but doesn't tell her he has.

She turns to smile at him, waiting. "Did you take it?" She asks, her voice impatient.

Steve snaps the picture of her turned to smile at him, London stretching far and wide behind her. She looked beautiful in the first, but even more so in this one, relaxed and off-guard, unprepared. He always liked her like that, always thought she looked most gorgeous when she didn't mean to. "I got it now," Steve says with a cheeky smile, holding out his hand.

Steve leads Isabel to the picnic rug and sits down, his back against the wall. Isabel sits beside him and leans into his side. Steve grabs the folded blanket and wraps it around them, fighting off the cold.

"I hope you won't be too cold," he mutters.

"Steve, it feels like I'm sitting against the sun," Isabel laughs. "I'll be fine."

"Good. Wouldn't want my girl to be uncomfortable," Steve smiles, squeezing Isabel's shoulder. "Now, I hope you're hungry. I wrangled Bucky into going down to the mess hall and charming that middle-aged female cook. Bucky was a little sour about it, but you know how no woman can resist his charms. She was very obliging to make him up a picnic basket. I think she may have been under the impression that she was going on the date with Bucky, but she was ultimately disappointed."

Isabel laughs at the mental image. "Oh, poor Bucky. The things he does for you."

"He secretly loves it. Let's see what we got in here." Steve pulls a bunch of cut sandwiches from the basket, as well as two slices of vanilla cake coated in frosting and a few ration chocolate bars.

"This looks lovely, Steve, but it won't be enough to satisfy your seemingly bottom-less pit of a stomach," Isabel says.

"I can always go down to get another lunch later in the mess hall. I'd rather just spend the time with you. Oh, and I got this," Steve says smugly, pulling an expensive-looking bottle of wine from the basket. "Didn't even have to get Bucky to sweet-talk anyone for this beauty."

"What? How did you get this?" Isabel asks, taking the bottle from Steve and reading the label. "Steve! This would have cost a fortune!"

"I was going to take credit, but I can't. It's a good thing we know a multi-millionaire – Howard got it for us. He agreed that we both deserved a bit of downtime together without the Commandos getting drunk in the booth next to us."

"That's very sweet of him," Isabel smiles, making a mental note to thank Howard later.

Steve pulls two wine glasses from the basket and hands them to Isabel. He easily pops the cork from bottle, smoothly pouring the wine into the glasses. He puts the bottle back down, taking his glass from Isabel.

"Here's to us," he toasts, clinking his glass against Isabel's.

"To us."

They both sip the wine, and Isabel's eyebrows rise. "This tastes amazing, no wonder it's so expensive." She then proceeds to down the rest of her glass, smacking her lips in delight.

"Woah," Steve laughs, eyeing the empty glass.

"It's a Barnes thing, don't judge. My mother is Russian and my father comes from a farming family, they know how to drink. We all can all drink, and we can all do it well," Isabel says, letting Steve fill her glass up again.

"I'm not saying anything," Steve laughs, watching her take another sip, slower this time.

"I've grown so used to having to drink whiskey and scotch and beer at the Stork Club and from Falsworth's sneaky flash, I didn't realise how much I missed drinking something that actually tastes nice."

"Whiskey is nice," Steve argues.

"If you like that sort of thing." Isabel shrugs her shoulder before leaning back against Steve again, his arm wrapping comfortably around her waist. "What did you do today?"

"I had a meeting with Phillips this morning."

"What about? The next mission?"

"No," Steve says. "He, uh, well… There were some comments he made a while ago that he wanted to amend," Steve continues vaguely.

Isabel turns to frown at him. "What sort of comments?"

"You remember when I first was injected with the super-solder serum, he said he wanted an army and I wasn't enough? He was going to send me to Alamogordo?"

"I remember," Isabel says sourly. "I know he's turned out to be nice to me, but I'm not sure I'll ever forget he said that," she warns. "What did he say just now?"

 _"You're the only one we've got, Cap. You were intended to be only the first of many, but now you're it. I know I had my doubts at first, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sure I'm not the first person you've come across to immediately disregard your ability."_

 _"You're right, sir. You aren't." Steve swallows down the pain that still lingers from that one comment. "It really is okay, sir–"_

 _"It isn't," Phillips insists. "I was wrong to be so judgemental, and I apologise. You're the one man we've got, along with your Commandos of course, and we need to utilise you as effectively as we can."_

 _"That's the goal, sir. I'm planning to attack, headlong, every Hydra facility in Europe. We can branch out from there," Steve explains._

 _"I know. I just… want to make sure that you understand the meaning behind that costume you wear and that name you carry." Phillips pauses, watches as Steve's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Captain America is an alter ego and a symbolic identity. When you don that uniform, you're no longer a private citizen. You're no longer Steve Rogers. You're… America herself._ Captain America. _You're giving the country a rallying point, leading them to victory. Even if you don't fight physically beside the American soldiers, you are with them in spirit and in morale."_

 _Steve thinks about this thoroughly. "I understand, sir. I know that the moniker is much more than just a name and a costume. When I am Captain America, I_ am _Captain America. I'm a different person. I think that's really important."_

 _"It is," Phillips reassures. "Plus, you're giving old Adolf something to think about."_

"I'm not so sure I can live up to that, Belle," Steve admits, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are tinged pink with the memory of the compliment.

"Steve, Doctor Erskine chose you because he believed in you. And if Phillips thinks you can, you can. That man isn't easy to please," Isabel points out, earning a chuckle from Steve. "You already know that I have complete faith in you, and so does Bucky. We always have. When I told you that you were the brightest star, I meant it. You can do and be anything you want, Stevie," Isabel promises sincerely.

Steve nods, a small smile on his lips, but he still looks unsettled. He looks out at the skyline a long while, pondering, the wind ruffling his blonde hair lightly.

"There's something else bothering you about what Phillips said?" Isabel guesses, watching him critically.

"You'll think it's silly," Steve laughs.

"I guarantee I won't."

"I feel like the world expects me to always be Captain America and no one wants Steve Rogers anymore. After all, there was no place in the world for me before I got the serum, why would there be for Steve now? Nothing's really changed. Steve wasn't the one who saved all those men, that was Captain America. I feel like Captain America is now my reality and Steve Rogers is the alter ego, not the other way around. It's like Steve Rogers died and in his place was born a symbol for the glory that is America."

Isabel frowns at that. "Stevie," she breathes. "There is no Captain America without Steve Rogers."

"But there could be. I'm not the only person who could have been given the serum," Steve argues.

"Not everyone is like you, Steve. Not everyone is as good, or as just, or as honest and kind. The serum amplified all the things that were already within you. Not just anyone can say they had those things to begin with." Isabel takes Steve's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Captain America is more than just the strength and power; he's made up of everything else that you're made up of. It's the total package that makes it work. If Captain America didn't have you, he'd be no more."

"I guess that makes sense," Steve mutters.

"But you don't need Captain America to be Steve Rogers," Isabel notes. "As for Steve Rogers, do you know what I see?"

Steve looks up and shakes his head. Their eyes meet for a moment, Isabel's warm and kind but critical and thoughtful. "What do you see?" Steve asks quietly.

"Well, first of all, Steve was the one who I said was the brightest star, not the Captain," Isabel points out. "I don't think of you as Captain America at all. To even call you that seems… strange. To me, you're just Steve out doing all the things he was always meant to do and making a difference like he always wanted. You're just Steve who all of a sudden got all the attention and recognition he always deserved. When I look at you, I see the man from Brooklyn, the wounded soldier, the artist, the man who still can't dance, a kind soul, the man that I'm sweet on. You're a lot of things, Steve, but you aren't only Captain America," Isabel promises.

Steve looks down again as his cheeks redden with blush but forces himself to look up at her again. He smiles, crinkling at the eyes. "Thanks, Belle."

"You're very welcome," Isabel reassures.

Steve sits back, looking content and reassured and like a thousand tonnes have been relieved from his care. He pulls her back against him and they sit looking out at the skyline for a while, at the fluffy pillows of clouds that lazily make their way across the grey sky. Steve reaches over into the basket and pulls out a sandwich quarter, handing it to Isabel, before stuffing his own in his mouth.

"So, what did you and Peggy do today? You were gone for ages," Steve asks, attempting to steer them away from their rather deep conversations earlier.

Isabel swallows the last of her sandwich quarter. She's thankful for the subject change, that Steve's accepted her answer. It may take him a while to come to terms with it himself, but at least he knows how she feels.

"She took me shopping in Oxford Street. It was swell, they have so many clothing styles I've never seen before. She said most of the styles come from Paris, they haven't reached New York yet. I told her I couldn't afford any of it, but she reassured me it was fine. Found out at the first register that Howard had given her a wad of cash to spend on ourselves."

"What?" Steve asks. "Howard gave you two money to go shopping?"

"Yes. If he keeps spoiling us we might come to expect that sort of treatment," Isabel teases.

"I'm surprised you two didn't bleed him dry," Steve chuckles, earning a mock-punch of protest from Isabel. "That man is too good. I'm going to have to step up my game in the boyfriend duty department."

"You don't have to do that, Steve," Isabel says, turning around to face Steve and leaning against him. "You are the most perfect man to go steady with that any girl could ask for. Just the way you look at me makes me feel like the luckiest girl alive."

Steve's eyes crinkle as he smiles widely. "I'm glad you feel that way, but I think it's really the other way around. _I_ am the luckiest man in the entire world."

Isabel laughs. "Stop using my lines," she tells him, pouncing forward to take his lips with her own. Steve meets her in the middle, his hand winding up into her hair as he kisses back, feeling as though fireworks are being set off in his stomach.

They pull away after a while when Steve's stomach grumbles loudly, making them both laugh.

"You need to eat more," Isabel pushes, reaching into the basket and pulling out Steve's slice of cake and unwrapping it for him. "Your stomach is almost as loud as Dugan's snoring."

"Nothing is as loud as that," Steve laughs, shoving half of the cake slice in his mouth in one go.

"You're so gross," Isabel says, crinkling her nose at Steve's slopping eating, cake crumbs on his lip and chin.

"You love it," Steve retorts, wiping his mouth. "God, I'm so hungry _all_ the time."

"That's the downside to being built like the Empire State Building," Isabel laughs, but then her face falls. She watches him chew the last of his cake before asking, "Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"New York... The life we used to have?"

Steve takes a while to think, brushing the crumbs carefully from his shirt front. "Sometimes. It was easier and safer back then. It was home. We had so many memories in that city, an entire life's worth. But even though we're away from it now, it's still with us. We'll always be from Brooklyn, so matter where we are in the world or what we're doing. It's kind of bittersweet to think about."

Isabel nods in understanding, leaning back against the wall beside Steve and taking Steve's hand in her own. She fiddles with his fingers and subconsciously rubs circles into the back of his hand as they look out at the London landscape for a while, the sun warm against them despite the cold chill of the air. The fog has lifted over the buildings and streets around them, revealing the beauty of the old architecture. In the distance, it's clear enough to see the River Thames winding between the city, a ferry putting across the water toward Greenwich far off to the left.

"It's a shame we can't go sightseeing," Isabel remarks. "Feels like a waste that our first time away from the United States isn't spent on a holiday, but for work."

"Agreed," Steve says. "One day we'll see the world and it won't be for work or when we're in danger. We can go anywhere we want and we can see all the sights, try all the food, meet all the people."

"But I don't want to wait," Isabel laughs. "I've gotten a taste of a life outside of Brooklyn and I like it. I never realised what I was missing out on until I actually took a step out of my comfort zone. I was comfortable and safe in Brooklyn, and yes, I was doing good working in the hospitals. But seeing the possibilities that are out there, all the things there are to do… It feels like I don't have enough time in my life to do it all."

Steve is silent for a while, looking out at the city. "For a long time I didn't even think I would make it to thirty. I just accepted the fact that I would spend all of my days in Brooklyn and I'd never be well enough or have the time to venture anywhere else. But now I'm healthy and I've got time. I've got what I wanted, I'm a soldier, but at the same time I've been opened up to so many possibilities I never imagined having. There's so many things I want to do and so many places I want to go, and I want to go there with you."

"Can we go? When the war is over?"

"When the war is over, I promise," Steve tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. "We're gonna live life, Belle, and we're gonna love it."


	37. Chapter 36

**36.**

 **Czechoslovakia**

 **February 22nd, 1944**

Isabel waits quietly, hidden beneath the thick trunk of a fallen tree like a tent to protect her from the rain that falls around her. She's freezing, buried deep in a thick coat. She's shaking, but not only from the rain that seems to soak her all the way to the bone – she's all alone in the forest, waiting for the Commandos to return from their latest raid.

Waiting on the outskirts in case she was needed in an emergency had seemed like a good idea in theory. When Phillips had proposed it to her, she'd been thrilled and said yes right away. What she hadn't accounted for was the fact that Peggy would not always be able to attend missions and being alone in a war zone was absolutely terrifying. At every noise, every flutter of a bird's wings or snap of a twig and rustle of a leaf, Isabel was raising her pistol into the forest, prepared to take down an enemy soldier. There never was anyone there, only ever a bird or a small rodent, but her heart would race nonetheless, and she'd bury further into the tree trunk's protection, waiting restlessly for someone return. Even if one of the Commandos came and got her because they needed medical attention inside the factory, it would be a welcome relief because she wouldn't be alone.

When Peggy had been with her last time, it hadn't been nearly as terrifying. Even when they hadn't been speaking, she could hear Peggy's steady breathing and see Peggy beside her. Peggy could nod to her to reassure her or tell her what to do when something went wrong. Now, all the decisions are up to her. Isabel is alone and her choices in an emergency could quite literally decide whether she lives or not.

Isabel gulps. She hears a rustle beside her, louder than all the others, and looks to her right, squinting to see through the thick vines and shrubbery of the forest. She doesn't see anything, but the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a sick feeling settles in her stomach. She'd get up and look to put her mind at rest, but if she did find an enemy soldier, would she even know what to do? Would she attack, or just pretend she hadn't seen them and creep back into the trees' protection? Could she shoot another person? Could she make herself do that again? Could she make the tally two rather than one? A jumble of questions tumble through her mind, and by the time she contemplates an answer to all of them, the rustling stops and her heart rate calms.

Besides, Steve had left her here under this exact tree. She needs to stay in case one of the Commandos come to fetch her. She needs to stay. She needs to just keep her head down and wait. So that's what she does, ignoring the near-silent rustles that seem to continue to her right.

After a dreadfully long time, Isabel's stomach is in knots and she feels a little nauseous. She feels even sicker again when Steve emerges from the main entrance of the factory alone, holding the shield in front of him. He runs into the tree line at full speed, an unnatural speed for a human person to be able to run at, and less than a minute later, Isabel hears his light footfalls approach her. She still raises her pistol in the direction just to be sure, and Steve emerges from the trees with his hands raised. Isabel immediately drops her weapon to her side, her movements awkward and unpractised.

"Good to see you're on guard," Steve says quietly with a proud smile. "Come on, we need you."

Isabel scrambles up from under the trunk and takes Steve's offered hand, running as fast as she can to keep up with Steve's increased stamina. After only a few seconds of running she trips over a risen tree root and nearly face plants, just managing to grab Steve's arm to steady herself.

"Slow down," she pants. "Not everyone's enhanced."

"Sorry," Steve says, slowing his pace considerably. "Still forget."

They reach the part of the tree line Steve darted into when he came to fetch Isabel and Steve halts, looking out at the field with a critical eye.

"Who's injured?" Isabel asks quietly.

"Morita, again. Hydra goon got the jump on us, shot both him and Falsworth in the back."

Isabel nods. After a few more seconds, Steve raises the shield and darts out of the trees, dragging Isabel along. They get through the front doors of the factory and Steve closes them again, hiding the commotion inside.

Isabel stays behind Steve as directed, pressed up against his back to hide herself from whatever lies ahead. She can't see anything around Steve or the shield, and she feels like she's walking blind. Still, she trusts Steve's eyes and his sure footfalls and allows him to lead her into the unknown. A bullet or two bounces off the metal shield from ahead of them, making Isabel shout out in surprise, and Steve immediately shoots back, the men falling to the ground. They carefully step around the bodies as they continue through the hallways. There's only a handful of soldiers around, which surprises Isabel.

"Where are all the Hydra soldiers?" Isabel whispers, Steve's footsteps almost silent as he creeps her through the factory.

"We took most of them out already. Dernier attached a bomb to one of the explosive devices they were storing on the factory floor, took out a pretty big chunk of them. Bucky, Jones and Dugan practically herded the rest of them away from the injured to another part of the factory floor. They're in a shoot off right now, but when I left we had the upper hand. We'll bypass that area and I'll get you to Morita and Falsworth before I go and help."

"Okay," Isabel says, her mind whirring as it processes the information.

She follows Steve through the dark and damp factory, unable to help herself from looking around at what they've already passed, since she can't see ahead. She's never been inside such a building, the factory seemingly looming high into the air above them. Bombs and other machinery sit around the factory floor in the distance. The hallways are narrow and long, winding around with lots of turns and hundreds of doors that would confuse anyone. Steve seems to know the way though, and eventually he stops at a closed door. He knocks on the wood, a specific pattern, and they hear a mumble from within.

Steve opens the door, revealing Morita and Falsworth sitting on the ground in two pools of blood. Dernier sits behind Morita, who must be the most injured, holding a dirty piece of material up to the wound of Morita's back. Steve pushes Isabel inside the room, looking warily at the hallway he stands in.

"Stay here with the door closed. If it opens before there's a knock, it isn't one of us. Don't hesitate to shoot," Steve reminds them, before he escapes through the door again, closing it behind him.

In the distance, they can just hear the sound of shooting, followed by a grenade explosion or two that echo through the hallways and shake the building's walls. Isabel ignores it and hurries over to Morita and Falsworth, putting her pistol on the ground beside her and Jim's medical kits.

Isabel takes the cloth from Dernier's hands. She passes a clean one to him and mimes for him to push it to Falsworth's wound, nowhere near as bad as Morita's as the bullet has only just grazed the top of his shoulder. Dernier does as instructed, nodding to her. She then mimes for him to listen out for approaching footsteps, pointing to the door and holding up her weapon, pretending to shoot at the door. Dernier nods and holds his weapon in his other hand, his eyes flicking determinedly between the door and Falsworth's shoulder.

"Heard they got the jump on you boys?" Isabel asks.

"Sure did, miss," Morita says, his voice a little slurred.

"They couldn't have hit the Captain," Falsworth says sourly. "He's enhanced, it wouldn't have even stopped him. Us though, we went down like a sack of spuds."

"You sure aren't having a good time, Jim," Isabel notes. "You only just got clearance to go into the field from your other wound."

"That I am not," he agrees, wincing when Isabel pushes forcefully on the wound to stem the bleeding.

With the blood cleared a little, Isabel inspects the wound. It's not overly deep, luckily. What's unlucky is that the bullet is lodged somewhere between two of Morita's ribs, and Isabel suspects they're probably broken, or at least cracked, from the force of the bullet.

"There's no exit wound," Isabel tells him. "I'm going to have to dig the bullet out and any shrapnel. The wound looks pretty clean, but I won't know until I get in there. Hopefully the bullet will slide out smoothly."

Isabel gives Morita a syrette of morphine, waiting a few minutes for the medicine to take effect. She then has him lean forward, ignoring the pain, and with a pair of tweezer-like tongs, carefully reaches inside the wound and feels around for the small metal bullet. She grasps it and pulls it out carefully, revealing the bullet mostly intact. She searches around a little longer, pointing a small flashlight into the bloody mess, and discovers the last pieces of metal, removing them.

"Only a little shrapnel, thank God," she mutters.

Morita puts his hand out and she dutifully drops the bloody bullet into his palm. He looks at it a second before putting it safely in his pocket. Isabel shakes her head at him.

"Alright, just gotta stitch it," Isabel says, mainly to herself considering Morita is dozing in and out of consciousness and the other two men are fixated on the door.

Isabel gets to work, sewing up any internal damage she can identify before working on closing the wound. The round wound comes together easily, and with only eight stitches it's closed, the blood flow stopped. She puts some disinfectant on the wound, making Morita hiss, and then bandages it, wrapping the bandage right around his torso tightly.

"It should heal nicely, but you'll have a scar. I want to keep an eye on you though. When we get back to base, you're going to the infirmary for a few days," she tells Jim, and he nods his understanding before allowing himself to slump sideways against the wall.

Monty's wound is much easier. It doesn't require any stitches, just a clean and a bandage, and it takes her not even five minutes to clean it up.

"Looks worse than it is," she reassures him, hiding the blood beneath the white bandages.

The four of them wait then, eagerly anticipating the Commandos to come and fetch them so they can leave the base.

"Did you find anything here?" Isabel asks Falsworth, the only one who is coherent enough to reply and speaks English.

"Not much that I know of, just some of Doctor Zola's notes and a bit about the Red Skull. It's just another weapon's factory. They haven't got any prisoners at this one. We're wondering whether the factory they held the one-oh-seventh in was just a one off. Perhaps they saw their opportunity to have others build their weaponry for them and took it."

"Maybe, but it seems unlikely. Zola and Schmidt are somewhat attempting to recreate the super-soldier serum, not just build their Tesseract-powered weapons. I find it hard to believe that they aren't experimenting on others."

Isabel's eyes widen at what she's accidentally let slip, a piece of information neither she nor Bucky had revealed. Before Falsworth can ask Isabel what she means about them experimenting on people, they hear the sequenced knock at the door, which makes them all jump.

Steve pokes his head inside, looking dirty with a deep red gash on his forehead. "Time to go! Factory's gonna blow!"

Dernier helps Falsworth off the ground and they head to the exit, but Morita stays put, his brow furrowed in pain.

"Wait, Steve!" Isabel calls. "Jim's injured bad, he can't just walk out of here."

"I'll carry him," Bucky offers.

Bucky steps into the room quickly. He grunts as he picks Morita up over his shoulders in a fireman's life, the man hanging limply off him. Bucky hurries out of the room with slightly lagging footsteps under Morita's weight, following the Commandos as they escape the factory.

"Baby Barnes, get in the middle next to your brother where it's safer," Dugan orders, standing on Isabel's left with his rifle raised.

"This ain't a photo shoot, Dugan," Bucky retorts, a little puffed.

"I think a photo shoot would be easier than this shit," Gabe says from behind them.

They make their way down the corridor, a mass of bodies, Steve at the front with the shield raised protectively. Isabel's heart pounds in her chest and her eyes dart around, her own pistol in her hands. They wind back through the never-ending maze of hallways to where Steve brought her in, the door in close proximity to the woods so that they can escape into its protection. Isabel feels some relief when she spots the familiar exit, only a few hundred meters away at the end of the corridor.

Steve picks up his pace and so do the others, Bucky looking like he's struggling a little with Morita's dead weight over his shoulder.

Suddenly from the door beside Dugan, a group of Hydra agents burst out. They knock into Dugan, who in turn knocks into Isabel, who takes down Bucky and Morita, the four of them landing in a heap on the hard floor like a line of dominoes. Morita lets out a scream of pain as he lands hard on his injured back, Bucky practically on top of him. Isabel feels her wrist give a painful tweak as she lands on it, Dugan falling heavily onto her, his bowler hat flying off.

Dugan and Bucky immediately recover and shoot up at the men from the floor, one of their bullets hitting a man between the eyes, the other hitting one in the chest. Steve's shield flies through the group, sending another three to the ground in a heap with a metallic clang. Bucky scrambles to his feet, picking up Morita again and throwing him back over his shoulder, ready to run. Isabel and Dugan stand as well, Dugan putting Isabel behind him protectively.

The last agent standing has managed to dodge both the shield and the bullets, stopping a few meters away from the group in front of their escape route. Everyone looks at the person for a long moment, expecting them to attack. The agent stares back, both lifeless and somehow full of emotion through their plain mask. Eventually, Dernier grunts and shoots at the figure, who easily moves to the side and evades the bullet as though it were nothing. Steve's eyebrows rise at the figure's swift, almost unhuman-like movements. Perhaps, he wonders, she's enhanced?

Even with the mask on the figure seems irritated, and when they reach up to remove their mask, they reveal themselves to be not a man as the Commandos expected, but a woman with a dirty scowl on her face.

Everyone's jaws drop as they stare at the woman, who's scowl quickly transitions into a smug smirk. She holds a cat-like elegance along with her slender, dark figure. She has shoulder length, straight black hair that frames her pale face. She's wearing a modified version of the traditional Hydra agent uniform with added panels of bright green across the front and a much tighter fit that accentuates her womanly figure.

Unfortunately, she's standing between them and the exit, holding one of Hydra's modified guns toward the Commandos.

"Hello, Captain and Commandos," she greets in German-accented English. "You made a mistake bringing your little girlfriend in here, Captain."

"Who the hell are you?" Steve snarls.

"You can call me Madame Hydra," she allows. "And if any of you make it out of here alive, you'll be seeing quite a bit more of me. The best of luck to all of you, and let the games begin."

With that, she sticks an explosive to the wall beside her and throws the doors at the end of the hall open, climbing into a car that awaits her at the exit and disappearing quickly from sight.

"Run!" Steve bellows, turning the Commandos away from the explosive on the wall. It makes a few beeping sounds, quickly getting faster, before it explodes within seconds. None of them are far enough away and the force sends the group to the ground again, the fire roaring over their heads. Isabel feels something hard covering her head, Steve having propped up his shield to hide the Commandos from the brunt of the fire.

Above them the roof starts coming down in chunks. Steve's up before anyone, using the shield to deflect larger chunks that would easily render the others unconscious. But much more terrifying and pressing is the thick green smoke that wafts toward them from the explosive device, filling the narrow hallway. They all quickly scramble to their feet and run down the hallway, Bucky with Morita over his shoulders once again, the smoke licking at their heels. They've no idea what the smoke is made of or its effect and have no intentions to stay and find out. Isabel runs as fast as her legs can carry her to keep up with the other Commandos, the adrenaline and fear coursing through her propelling her forward, her footsteps matching in time with the others'. The rest of the factory is also up in flames, since Steve and the others rigged it to blow before they collected their injured.

"We need another exit!" Steve yells over the noise of the fire, running to the front of the group to lead them through the winding hallways.

They don't come across any more Hydra agents, all of them escaping the crumbling building. They also come across no exits to the outside of the factory, and with every second the panic on their faces grow, despite the fact that the smoke dissipates behind them. Clearly, "Madame Hydra" had hoped to stall the Commandos with her introductions, corner them in a deserted part of the factory and block off their exits, causing them to be trapped inside and to succumb to the smoke, which they assume is poisonous gas.

Luckily for the Commandos, however, Steve is too stubborn to give up and within a few minutes of frantic running, he finds them another exit from the factory a long ways from where they'd begun. Steve goes through the door first with his shield raised, surprised when a string of bullets bounces off the metal with a loud _ping._ Steve looks around carefully, spotting a sniper in the tree line not far from where Isabel had been waiting for them.

Steve slips back inside. "Sniper in the tree line, two o'clock."

Bucky peers through the gap in the door, glaring up at the waiting sniper. "That's not far from where we left Is."

"I know."

"I heard a noise, I just thought it was another animal or bird," Isabel cries. She'd been only a few yards away from a Hydra sniper. If only she'd faced her fears and approached, maybe she could have taken him down.

"Doesn't matter. I'm gonna rush him," Steve decides.

"No, Steve. It's too far up there, you could get hit. He may not be the only one," Bucky argues.

"I'll be okay," Steve reassures.

Before anyone else can protest, Steve bursts through the doors with the shield raised and runs full-pelt up the hill, the thick grass almost as tall as Steve himself and providing some protection. There's more than one set of bullets flying at him, the snipers scattered around the trees. Within seconds, Steve's upon the first sniper and he brings the shield down on the sniper's back before the man can even move, ripping the rifle from his grasp. The sniper goes still, slumped over on the ground.

Steve quickly scours the tree line for any other waiting snipers. His eyes land on one, who seems to be attempting to hide in the bushes from the star-spangled figure. Steve uses the borrowed sniper rifle to take him out, the single, accurate shot ringing out through the trees. Then, he rushes the final sniper who has abandoned his post and sprints away through the trees. The Commandos watch Steve disappear into the dense trees and hear another faint gunshot.

A few minutes later, Steve reappears at the clearing's edge. He raises a hand to the others to signal for them to come, and they oblige, keeping Bucky, Morita and Isabel in the middle as they struggle through the thick grass into the tree line.

Once they get into the trees' protection, they take a second to look back and watch the factory crumple to the ground, but they don't allow themselves to relax. They can't relax until they're at the safety of the rendezvous point and back in London. Even then, London is no longer safe. Hydra truly is an infestation and it could be anywhere at any time.

The Hydra factory in Czechoslovakia goes up in a final firework spectacular of flames and crumbles to the ground, sending billows of smoke and concrete up into the air. Only a few more minutes and they all would have been toast. Still, the Commandos can rest assured that no one in the base and none of its contents will survive the blast to be used elsewhere.

At Steve's final nod, they turn and walk further into the trees, all of them with a million questions in their minds about the mysterious woman of Hydra.

* * *

After hours of walking and the occasional stop to tend to Morita's major injury and the others' minor ones, the Commandos stay the night in an abandoned barn, still with a two-mile trek to go until they reach the rendezvous point. The barn is old, painted a faded red colour, and the machinery inside is entirely wrecked by rust. None of it's been used in a long while. The men set up their sleeping bags in the stale hay on the upper loft of the barn, leaving them with a perfect view of the surrounding forest through the open frames where windows may have once been.

Amongst the hay, which provides warmth despite causing most of them to develop the sniffles, the Commandos sit around in a circle. They huddle together for warmth since they are unable to start a bonfire in case it sets fire to the entire barn or draws attention to their position. Morita lays down to rest his wound, sticking close. Isabel administers Morita another syrette of morphine so he's rather content to sit and listen to the others talk, the pain numbed away by the medicine.

"Who was that woman? That Madame Hydra?" Isabel eventually asks into the silence of the barn.

"Dunno, we haven't seen her before," Jones says.

"She said we'll be seeing her around. She must be a higher-up, probably works alongside Schmidt," Bucky reasons.

"We can get Agent Carter to look into it when we get back to base. Surely, she can find us some intel or do a background check or something. If we're facing another enhanced person like Schmidt, we need to know about it," Steve says.

"What makes you think she's enhanced?" Falsworth asks, holding his injured shoulder and taking a long swig from his flask to numb the pain.

"Didn't you see the way she dodged the shield and those bullets?" Steve asks, incredulous. "One of those shots went right for her head and she just moved to the side like it was nothing. And the way she wielded that bulky Hydra gun. If she isn't enhanced, she's been thoroughly trained in fighting and weaponry. She'll be a pain to take out."

The Commandos all nod at that, recalling the stealth and cat-like movements of the agent who'd revealed themselves to be a woman. It had been a shock to say the least.

"Well there's no use making assumptions until we know more about her," Jones decides. "If Agent Carter can get us more information, then we'll know what we're looking at. We need the bigger picture. Right now, we only have the snapshot."

"Agreed," Steve says.

After that, the Commandos' minds thankfully pull away from thoughts about their last mission. They resort to their usual tactic for forgetting the horrors they've seen – sharing stories of home, drinking from their hidden flasks and passing a cigarette around the group. Isabel snaps a picture of Bucky with her camera that she still insists on using to document their adventures. The photograph is unsuspecting, candid, as she'd liked the way the puff of smoke clouded in front of Bucky's face as he blew it out of his lungs. She takes a picture of Steve, too, just because she can, and captures his innocent smirk, one side of his mouth raised slightly higher than the other.

Eventually, the cigarette stick gets to Isabel and she looks at it doubtfully, taking it in her thumb and forefinger. She's never smoked a cigarette before, usually passing it on to the next person.

"Go on, it won't kill you," Dugan pushes.

"That you know of," Isabel responds. "Do you know the chemicals they put in these things? And you breathe that right into your lungs–"

"Don't have to get all medical and smart on us. It's fine if you don't want to live your life on the edge like the rest of us," Dugan laughs.

He leans over to take the smoke from Isabel's hands since she doesn't plan on using it. She moves away from him, holding it out of his reach. Glaring determinedly at him, she brings it up to her puckered lips, taking a small drag of the smoke. It immediately makes her lungs burn and she erupts into a coughing fit, covering her mouth as the smoke comes billowing out again. The Howling Commandos laugh at her, Steve plucking the smoke from her hands before she can accidentally burn herself.

"You'll get used to it, lass," Dugan tells her, stealing the smoke from Steve and taking a long drag. He puckers his lips and blows the smoke out in puffed rings that climb up into the air and dissipate slowly, making the men clap quietly. "Just one of my many tricks," he says, fake bowing to his audience. "I'll teach you my ways one day, Barnes Junior."

"That's okay," Isabel says, her voice rough from coughing. "I think I'll pass on that opportunity."

"Suit yourself," Dugan laughs, stealing another drag before passing the shrinking cigarette to Bucky.

"How about we sing a song, fellas? Boost morale. Anyone got any suggestions?" Morita asks with a dopey smile, the morphine affecting him heavily.

"If you're so keen, why don't you start?" Falsworth tells him.

"Monty, please. I'm injured and Isabel drugged me. I almost feel good enough that I could run a marathon, but I have the feeling Nurse Barnes would put a stop to that. Plus, every time I move any part of my body I just want to scream. It's probably best I leave the singing to you fellas."

"Yeah, let's leave Morita out of this. He sounds like a dying cat when he sings. I would know, I heard him singing in the showers at boot camp," Dugan informs them.

"That's not very nice," Isabel protests through her laughter.

"It's true," Morita says, not even embarrassed. "If you asked any of my past girlfriends, they'd all attest to that."

"Here, I've got one," Falsworth says. Everyone looks at him in surprise, not expecting the straight-laced Brit to be the singing type. "Unlike Jim over here, my wife says I have a rather lovely voice and I think you Yanks are going to just love it. Especially when I sing this…" He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

" _Land of soap and water,_

 _Hitler's having a bath._

 _Churchill's looking through the keyhole,_

 _Having a jolly good laugh._

 _Cos Hitler has only got one ball,_

 _Göring has got two but they're small._

 _Himmler has something sim'lar,_

 _But poor old Goebbels has no balls at all._

The Howling Commandos laugh and cheer, starting up a rhythmic clap to keep Falsworth in time. Falsworth takes the time to get up, adding an odd sort of jig to his dance and moving his way around the room, his singing getting louder. Steve tries to hush him and tell them to be quieter, but they don't listen, the alcohol they've drunken taking full effect.

 _Hitler has only got one ball,_

 _The other is in Albert Hall._

 _His mother, the dirty bugger,_

 _Cut it off when he was small._

"Oh shit, I forgot the last verse," Falsworth cries with a laugh.

"She threw it into the apple tree…" Bucky prompts, smiling up at Falsworth.

"Ah, good on you, Sergeant Barnes… _She threw it into the apple tree,_

 _It fell into the deep blue sea._

 _The fishes got out their dishes,_

 _And had scallops and bollocks for tea!"_

Falsworth drops back into his spot, looking puffed, smiling with heated cheeks. He immediately picks up his flask and takes a long sip.

"What a classic," Dugan laughs, holding his stomach that aches from laughter.

"Your wife is right, you're a real crooner, Monty," Isabel praises.

"Why thank you, darl. Say, wouldn't it be a shame if we were paratroopers? We'd have to sing that god awful long song, "Blood Upon the Risers" or whatever it's called," Falsworth notes. "I don't have enough energy for that many verses."

"I don't think any of us have the brain capacity to remember that many verses, either," Dugan laughs in agreement.

* * *

The Commandos practically collapse into their sleeping bags, exhausted from the raid and the march. Morita starts snoring right away, the morphine taking its hold when he could no longer keep his eyes open, and Dugan takes a moment to hold his nose and make the sleeping man gasp for breath. Isabel bats Dugan away from the injured man, berating him, but Dugan pays her no mind, instead snickering away at his prank.

Bucky takes the first watch, claiming he isn't tired. He sits himself in the frame of the open pane of the barn, holding his own knife and carving into the wooden handle with the knife he's borrowed from Dugan. A few of the Commandos set themselves up in the stables for privacy, closing the doors to keep the heat in. Isabel sets her sleeping bag up in a stable, leaving the door open, and falls asleep immediately amidst the smell of the hay.

Her sleep is anything but soundless, filled with images of war and fighting, blood and gore. The world of her dreams transitions into _a large open field, the ground churned up into a muddy mess by artillery fire. She sits on the outskirts of the field, away from the fight as per the conditions of her joining the Commandos. The Commandos themselves are fighting further out into the field, their weapons raised, a mass of bullets flying through the air between them and the advancing Hydra soldiers like tiny flies buzzing through the sky._

 _The bullets eventually find their way into the bodies of the Commandos, sending them sprawling into the mud, choking on blood and closing their eyes._

 _Isabel's legs propel her across the field despite promising to wait in the tree line. Her feet sink in the mud, slowing her run and making her trip, but she eventually makes it to Dugan's body. He's still beneath her hands, his eyes staring straight up to the clouds above. He's got a mass of bullets lodged in his chest, blood soaking the front of his uniform._

 _Dernier is similar, taking his final shaky breath as Isabel crawls over to him, the photograph of his wife and child clutched tightly in his still-warm hand. Isabel isn't even aware of the flurry of bullets flying just above her head. As she still leans over Dernier, her hand flittering over his still face, Falsworth runs past her._ _She doesn't think much of it until suddenly, Isabel and Dernier get covered in a spray of oddly warm liquid. Isabel looks down at her uniform, seeing the spray is blood and brains. Falsworth falls to the ground right in front of her, still. A bullet to his head is the critical blow, half of the back of his skull blown away with the force, leaving an open, gaping, bleeding hole. Isabel fights back a scream._

 _"Isabel, what are you doing out here?" Bucky suddenly cries, appearing over her. He kneels beside her and roughly wipes the blood from her face with his sleeve as she clutches to his arms._

 _"God, why did I come out here, why didn't I wait? Why didn't I wait on the sidelines?" She thinks but doesn't realise she's saying it aloud._

 _"I'm gonna get you out," Bucky promises. He grabs her arm and lifts her up, running quickly across the field and dodging bullets to lead her away from the fight back to where she was hiding before. Miraculously none of them get hit, they make it unscathed. "You know you aren't supposed to come in without Steve escorting yo–"_

 _Bucky cuts off as their luck runs out, a string of bullets hitting him in the back and sending him to the ground. Isabel somehow escapes unharmed. Bucky lands face down, screaming in pain. Isabel drops beside him, eyes widening as she takes in the littering of bullet holes across his back, the blood soaking his uniform and turning it from olive to crimson. She rolls him over carefully, his face contorted with pain. Bucky looks up at her, grey eyes widened in terror and pain, his eyebrows furrowed._

 _"Bucky?" She asks through her tears, cupping his cheek when his eyes flutter shut. "Bucky, stay with me!" She pleads._

 _She looks down, finding some of the bullets have flown out the other side, leaving holes in his chest and stomach as well. Bucky's blood pools into the mud below him. He coughs and then chokes, blood spilling from the side of his mouth, and he tries to tell her something but before he can rasp the words out, his eyes roll back in his head and he's still in Isabel's arms. "No!"_

 _Isabel looks up from Bucky's body, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes blind with tears, just in time to see the Red Skull approach Steve, Madame Hydra stood smugly behind her leader. The blonde kneels on the ground in the middle of the field, clutching his bullet-riddled chest but still living, still breathing, thanks to the serum. Schmidt strolls up to Steve, taking Steve's chin in his red hand and forcing him to look up._

 _"Say goodbye to your little friends," Isabel hears Schmidt say in a deep and menacing tone before he raises one of Hydra's disintegrating guns to Steve's chest. He pulls the trigger, the blue energy engulfing Steve's body in an unnatural light, before Steve fades away into thin air right before her eyes_ _–_

Isabel awakens from the nightmare screaming, her eyes filled with tears, her hands searching around for Bucky's body that she'd only just been clutching to her chest. She screams and screams, unable to work out reality from her terrifying realistic dream.

Beside her, Steve jolts awake at the sound of Isabel's terrified wails, immediately searching the barn for danger. He finds none though, only Bucky jumping to his feet worriedly from where he'd been keeping watch and peering into the stable. Steve slams his hand over Isabel's mouth to silence her, not wanting the noise to attract any enemies that may be in the dense forests nearby. She stiffens at his touch, struggling to break free of his grasp, but he holds her strongly against him, one hand over her mouth getting soaked with tears, the other petting her hair.

"Shh, Belle. It's okay, you're okay," he whispers over and over.

She quickly calms once she realises who's holding her, her muffled scream turning to a wretched sobbing. She turns in his arms and buries her face in his chest. Steve nods to Bucky, letting him know everything is safe. Bucky looks extremely worried, but he nods back wordlessly and disappears from sight.

The other Commandos also awaken at the noise, and Steve hears Bucky telling them it was Isabel having a nightmare. He hears the mumble of talking, hears Dugan say, " _I hope she's okay, poor doll doesn't deserve that kind of torture_ ", but blocks it out, instead concentrating on Isabel.

Steve lays back with her, holding her close, hushing her and patting her hair and letting her cry it out. The spot below her face on his uniform gets soaked quickly. Eventually the tears peter off and she sniffles, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jacket. When she finally looks up at him, her eyes are red and raw, her cheeks still wet, and her nose stuffed up.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, trying to move away.

"Uh uh," Steve whispers back, holding her tightly so she can't move away. "Don't you ever apologise," he tells her, wiping away the wetness on her face.

"I probably woke everyone up," she says, her voice breaking as though she may start weeping again.

"They won't mind, Belle," Steve promises. He watches her a moment. "Nightmare?" He guesses. Isabel nods, her bottom lip trembling. "I had a nightmare, too, just then," Steve admits, holding Isabel a little bit closer.

"What was it about?" She asks quietly, voice shaky, looking up at him with wide-eyes.

"Everyone I knew was dead. You, Buck, the Commandos, my Mom, your family. I've had the dream a few times. I walk into a Hydra factory and down this long, dark corridor. When I get to the end, there's just this pile of bodies, everyone I've ever known killed by bullets or stabbed, real painful deaths. All of them piled up in this mass of blood."

"That's horrible," Isabel whispers.

"I have nightmares almost every night, the same dreams usually," Steve confides, a darkness to his features that was never there before the war. "Do you want to talk about yours?"

"No," Isabel whispers, burying her face into Steve's chest again.

"Honey, if you don't get it off your chest, you'll never be able to breathe," Steve tells her, coaxing her to lift her head up again.

Isabel sighs, eventually meeting his eyes. "I dreamt we were in this muddy field, that you were all fighting this group of Hydra soldiers and I was just watching from the edge like I'm supposed to, but it was so hard to watch like that and not help. Dugan and Dernier went down and I ran to them to help them, but they were already dead. I saw Falsworth fall in front of me, half of his head was missing." The tears start to fall again, and Steve cups her cheek. "Bucky spotted me out there unprotected and tried to get me out, but they shot him right in front of me and it was so bad, I couldn't even start to help him. There was nothing I could do. He died in my arms. When I looked up, the Red Skull shot you with the Tesseract-powered guns and you disintegrated right in front of my eyes." She looks up then, meets his eyes, and clutches the front of his uniform. "It felt so real, like it was actually happening."

"I know, Belle. That's why they're so terrifying, because they feel real. And because they're possible. All those things you saw aren't far-fetched or science fiction. They could actually happen." Steve swallows, realising what he's saying may not be helping Isabel's frazzled nerves. "I'm sorry you dreamt this stuff," he mutters, guilt lacing his tone.

"No, Steve, it's not your fault. It's just my stupid mind playing on my worst fears," Isabel reassures, pressing her hands against her eyes.

"But if I hadn't–"

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself," Isabel begs.

Steve gulps and nods. "So, we have nightmares at the same time," Steve notes, his hand moving to Isabel's head and running through her hair. "What do you think that says about us?"

"That we're both fighting a crucial battle in a world war and we're both experiencing some rather horrifying events?" Isabel asks.

"I was going more for something a little more romantic, as weird as that is," Steve laughs.

"I think I know what you're talking about. _Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Everything he suffers, I suffer…_ " Isabel quotes, smirking up at Steve.

"Your favourite book," Steve notes. "Yeah, that was what I was thinking. Would a kiss make you feel better?"

"Probably. As long as Bucky isn't still watching me worriedly," Isabel laughs.

Steve looks out, seeing Bucky facing away from them again, eyes searching the forest around them. "We're all good," Steve promises.

He leans in slowly to take Isabel's lips with his own. Immediately, she feels more relaxed, letting herself melt into Steve, allowing him to take away the fear and the sadness. It's almost like her soul is attaching to his, like they've joined together to become one. But they've always been like that, haven't they? They've always been family, always been together. They melt away each other's tensions, take each other's fears and replace them with hopes and dreams and love.

Isabel realises in that moment that Steve feels like home. Steve is home, and maybe he always has been. Even when she's miles away, on the other side of the planet, she's still home.

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **February 24th, 1944**

"Ophelia Sarkissian," Peggy says bluntly over the blare of the music in the Stork Club, dropping a file on the middle of the round table in front of the Commandos.

Most of them jump at the sudden movement, looking up from their alcoholic beverages at the beige file on the table and then up to Agent Carter, still dressed in her neatly-pressed uniform.

"What's that?" Dugan asks, reaching for the dossier.

Steve snatches it up first and flips it open. Isabel peers over at the pages, and they're met with the sinister mugshot-like photo of Madame Hydra.

"It's a who," Peggy corrects calmly, pulling up an empty chair from an adjacent table and settling herself between Bucky and Isabel. "The woman you encountered in the Hydra factory, Madame Hydra? This is her. Her name is Ophelia Sarkissian. It took a lot of digging, but we finally found her identity."

Steve flips the page over, but there's only a singular page of information on her. "This is it?" Steve asks quietly, but not accusingly.

"Unfortunately, for now," Peggy sighs. "Nearly everything else about her is wiped. Hydra covers their tracks well. There's no trace of bank loans, social security numbers, birth certificates, travel history. Nothing. If it wasn't for Hydra's records on her that we managed to uncover, she practically wouldn't exist."

"So, who is she? Is she enhanced?" Jones asks.

"Doesn't say," Steve answers with a frown, skimming the rather brief knowledge on the mysterious woman. "She's Hydra's highest-ranking lieutenant. She commands the detention areas in Hydra's facilities. She's the Red Skull's second or third in charge."

"Where does moniker Madame Hydra come from, then?" Bucky asks, looking mainly to Peggy for answers.

"That was something we already knew. Hydra has a tradition of naming their highest-ranking female officer 'Madame Hydra'. Generally, they are well-respected and ruthless fighters. Zola chose her as a female officer for her brutality and her expertise in poisons, torture and interrogation."

"But not enhanced?" Jones clarifies.

"Likely not. Just very skilled. You may still have your hands full," Peggy warns.

"So, Zola's her superior officer?"

"Technically, but I feel she may hold more control over him than he has over her," Peggy says.

Isabel leans over further, reading over Steve's arm. "Sarkissian utilises an arsenal of deadly poisons, many of which were tested and perfected on the vast number of allied prisoners of war in the dungeons of Hydra's facilities," Isabel reads quietly. Her eyes flick up slowly to meet Bucky's. Bucky slowly nods his head. He remembers very vividly the poison they'd dropped on his skin and shoved down his throat, watching how well the serum cured the side-effects. Isabel swallows down the lump in her throat.

"Not only that," Steve continues, eyes flicking carefully between Isabel and Bucky. He clears his throat. "She's been working with Zola on inventing weapons for her personal use. Apparently, they used… the reality-warping powers of the Tesseract to shrink fully-automatic rifles into pistol-sized handhelds."

"They'd be devastating," Bucky notes, a worried frown settling across his features. "The power of a machine gun in a pistol. Machine pistols. No one else has anything close."

"Exactly," Steve says. "And the process would have been way too costly for mass-production. It's only Ophelia's skill and lethality that make using them effective. They're one of a kind. We just need more arsenal to match."

"I'll get Howard on it," Peggy promises.

"That's all we have," Steve sighs, shutting the file again. "It's not much, but it's a start. Great work, Agent Carter."

Peggy smiles slightly, taking back the file for safe-keeping and tucking it back into a handbag by her feet. She stands easily, flattening down her skirt and pushing back a stray hair from her face. "Well, I really must go," she says, taking a step towards the door.

"Not going to stay, Carter? I'm sure Barnes'll buy you a drink," Dugan smirks, raising his eyebrows at her. Bucky only glares slightly, but then he looks up at Peggy and nods with a small smile.

"Unfortunately not, boys and lady. I've got a lot more digging to do on our mysterious Madame Hydra. I've got a team continuing the investigation back at base. I should get back to them. I just wanted to check in."

"Then I'll walk you back," Bucky offers quickly, standing and shrugging on his jacket in preparation of the cooler air outside.

"It's hardly necessary, Sergeant Barnes," Peggy says, almost automatically, though it's in a tone that insinuates she has no protest to the company.

"I insist," Bucky replies with a smirk, as though it's a conversation they've had many times already.

They gather their possessions. Bucky downs the rest of his whiskey quickly, putting the glass up at the bar for the bartender to clear. He turns then and waits for Peggy, but she hesitates, standing behind Jones and Dernier.

"One more thing," she says, eyebrows frowned. "It wasn't in the file as it's just a rumour."

"What is it?" Steve asks.

"Apparently Ophelia is… very close to the Red Skull…" Peggy trails off.

"In rank?" Morita asks.

"In… proximity," Peggy rephrases, but some of the men still look confused. Peggy sighs. "Reports say she may be a… lover of the Red Skull."

Everyone's eyebrows rise at that, and then many faces turn into one of disgust.

"The Skull. Really? Surely she could do better," Dugan asks, his moustache downturned with his mouth. "I mean, c'mon. We all saw what she was wearing and what she squeezed into it–" Dugan cuts off when Morita smacks him upside the head.

"It's leverage if we need it," Steve reasons, frowning disapprovingly at Dugan. "Even if there's nothing between them but the physical – no emotion or attachment – its leverage. We could use it, if we needed to."

* * *

 **A/N:** Madame Hydra will be a supporting character in this story working for Hydra. I understand that in the canon for the MCU in _Agents of Shield_ , Madame Hydra has a rather complicated backstory as Aida as a type of artificial intelligence working for Hydra in the twenty-first century. However, in the comics Madame Hydra is a character who evolves and pops up multiple times for Captain America to fight and takes on many different personas. She also appears in the video game _Captain America: Super Soldier_ as one of the antagonists. Therefore, I thought she would be interesting to include in the story. I feel that Hydra only having one major villain made them slightly one dimensional in _Captain America: The First Avenger_. In the comics there are multiple characters Cap fights during World War II, and I feel that adding Madame Hydra reflects this better and also reflects the complexity of World War II itself. It was difficult to know who was the enemy and from what angle they would attack. I just hope I do the character justice as I don't know all that much about her.

The song that Falsworth sings is "Hitler Has Only Got One Ball", a British propaganda song that mocks the Nazi leader using blue comedy in reference to his privates. Multiple variants of the lyrics exist for different political and military leaders of the time. It was used with immense popularity by Allied troops as a means of ridiculing the Nazis by demeaning the sexual faculties of the enemy leaders, a popular wartime convention. However, this mockery also symbolised their courage, nerve and fortitude, characteristics that were described since the 1920s as "ballsy", or for someone to have "balls". In this sense, their defective privates rendered the Nazis defective soldiers.

Also, the book that Isabel references toward the end is _Wuthering Heights_ by Emily Bronte from 1847. It is one of my personal favourite books. It's a gothic romance novel but it deals with topics such as religious hypocrisy, morality, social classes and gender equality. If you haven't read it, I would recommend it as it is a classic. Honestly, though there have been multiple film adaptions, not many of them are great. If you're to watch them (as I did), don't let it persuade you from reading the novel. It also inspired the 1978 song by Kate Bush of the same name.


	38. Chapter 37

**37.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 10th, 1944**

The morning of Bucky's birthday, he awakens early as per usual. Steve's already gone for the day, but he's left a note on the bedside table wishing Bucky a happy birthday. Bucky picks it up, reading Steve's scrawled handwriting, then flips the note, finding one of Steve's hurried doodles like he used to do in the column of his school books. He's drawn a cartoon-Bucky licking his lips as he holds a whole birthday cake with a bite already missing from the side, and a cartoon-Steve poking his head around the edge of the paper apologizing for being hungry. Bucky laughs aloud, sitting on the edge of his bed smiling at the caricatures.

Eventually he figures he should get ready for the day and puts the drawing in the drawer of his bedside table. He takes a shower, the water scalding on his bare skin, just boiling enough to burn away the dirt and gore and bad dreams. The water drips from his wet hair onto his shirt as he walks back into the bedroom, pausing when he spots a present on the dressing table. He goes up to it and inspects the small card attached to the gift-wrapped present, reading that the gift is from Steve and Isabel, and for him to open it at breakfast in the mess hall.

There's also a very large white envelope addressed to him beside the box, and he recognizes his mother's handwriting. He opens it up, finding a letter from the family and a comic book.

 _To dearest Bucky,_

 _The happiest of birthdays to you! We hope you are able to make the best of your special day, no matter where you are. It seems like not long ago that you were our little bundle of joy, the bubbling toddler who couldn't pronounce his own name. You have no idea the pride we all feel knowing the hard work and sacrifices you are making for our country. Mama takes great pride in telling all of her friends that you're fighting beside Captain America._

 _We hope that the Army is serving you well, that you aren't too hungry or sleep-deprived, and most of all that you're safe and happy. Hopefully you're keeping an eye on Isabel._

 _We didn't get you a present because we know you don't have much use for one wherever you are. We'll have it waiting for you whenever you get home. To tide you over, Robbie bought you a comic book. It's one of his favourites so far and he just had to get you a copy. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at what's inside._

 _All our love and well wishes,_

 _Ma, Dad, Robbie and Becca_

Bucky smiles at the letter and makes a mental note to write back to them later that night. He debates whether to read the comic at the mess hall, since he's technically supposed to be there already, but curiosity gets the better of him and he flicks through it straight away, his jaw dropping.

The comic book is about the adventures of Captain America, something all of them had known about. The comics had first been released when Steve was still travelling on the USO Tour, and he'd told all the men about them. They're a little corny and they portray Steve as extremely patriotic and just, something that he isn't entirely, but they're entertaining, and they get people involved in the war effort, so Bucky supposes it's all worth it. He doesn't expect, however, to find himself and all of the Commandos also included in the drawings. He assumes this isn't the only time they've been featured either, considering their characters are already rather developed and are pretty pivotal to all of the storylines.

He reads a few pages, brow furrowed, finding that some of the information is correct while other parts are totally wrong. He laughs a few times at the dialogue and the sound effects, specifically "wank" when Cap hits someone with the shield, but freezes when he sees himself in a very unflattering position. He does a doubletake, then flicks through to find another full-body drawing of his comic book alter ego.

"What in the world is that?"

* * *

Bucky makes his way down the mess hall with his presents in hand where the Commandos are all waiting for him, since he's a good ten minutes late after their agreed time. He enters the room to a chorus of "happy birthday" from the Commandos, who all break into song for their Sergeant, awfully rowdy for so early in the morning.

Isabel jumps from her seat and give him a hug around his present, kissing his cheek. "Happy birthday, Bucky!"

"Thanks, doll," Bucky says, but his lips are pursued into a fine line.

Isabel immediately notices. "What's wrong?"

Bucky rolls his eyes dramatically, taking his assigned seat at the table and putting the present on the floor at his feet. Isabel slips in beside him.

"I can't believe this," Bucky says, opening the comic book in his hands to a few pages in. It takes them a second to realize it's a Captain America comic book from the United States, clearly sent by one of the Barnes family members. Bucky points an accusing finger at a figure standing behind Captain America. "I'm wearing tights!"

Isabel laughs aloud at the sight, the drawn figure of Bucky wearing a navy blue tight and tunic ensemble with double-breasted buttons, similar to the blue jacket he wears on missions, and with bright red boots. He also wears a black mask over his eyes, shielding some of his face, but its undeniably supposed to be Bucky, with a thick head of dark hair and even his casual smirk.

"Oh, don't laugh," Bucky says sourly. "All you fellas are in here, too." He flicks through the pages, and the Commandos see glimpses of their drawn selves on the pages, eerily lifelike and pretty dark in colour scheme. Their costumes are embarrassing in typical comic book fashion, all tight superhero clothing and tights.

"I think we're all wearing tights," Falsworth mutters, trying to get a good look. "Oh, wait. No. Only Cap and Serge. The rest of us are just wearing Army uniforms."

"Least you didn't have to wear tights in real life, Serge," Dugan laughs, mocking Steve's costume from the USO Tour and prompting a glare from the Captain.

"Peggy's in here, too, but I'm not sure if I should tell her for my own safety," Bucky says, pointing out Peggy on one page informing the Commandos of their next mission objective. "Oh, and you're featured as well, Isabel," Bucky mentions, stopping halfway through the book.

On the page, Isabel stands beside Bucky, wearing a slightly more fitted version of the men's basic army uniform – it isn't much different to what she does wear on missions, a white t-shirt, khaki pants and black boots – except the top seems to accentuate her curves. Her hair is still perfectly curled despite being out in a war zone and her lips red. In her hands is a medic pack. She's smiling over at Captain America, her eyes almost looking like hearts.

"You're Captain America's girlfriend," Bucky teases in a dopey, mocking voice, seemingly gotten over his annoyance at his outfit at seeing everyone else wears equally horrible uniforms.

"Is there anything they don't know?" Isabel cries, taking the comic and flicking to the back page, where her and the Captain stand in a hotel-like room in their everyday clothes, holding each other in their arms. "How soppy," Isabel remarks, reading the comic as imaginary-her and Steve say that as long as they're together, they can conquer anything, even the war.

"Hate to break it to you, sis," Bucky says slyly, taking the comic back, "but you and Steve are like that in real life. Couple'a lovesick pups."

"Whatever," Isabel replies, rolling her eyes. "Open your present."

Bucky pulls the present up onto the table, ripping the wrapping paper off to reveal a see-through plastic case, small enough to fit into a backpack. Inside is a tiny telescope made from white metal, the brand "Stark" written along the side.

"Is this a telescope?" Bucky all but gasps, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

"Yep. I told Howard you love space and science, which he greatly appreciated. He said that anytime you want to talk science, feel free to visit him in the lab. He designed this for you so that you could look up at the stars while we were out in the field. It's small enough to fit in your pack without having to take out anything else."

"This is amazing," Bucky breathes. "I've never seen a telescope this small."

"Neither, but here we are. Stark's a genius, he said it was a piece of cake. It isn't powerful enough to see as far as some they're producing nowadays, but if you look at the right time you should be able to see any planet in our solar system and nearby stars," Steve adds, smiling at Bucky who looks ecstatic at his gift.

"I can't wait to use it. Thank you both of you," Bucky smiles, carefully putting the telescope back in its case.

"You're welcome."

* * *

The Commandos plus Peggy decide to give Bucky a good time for his birthday, so after a long day of working in the SSR Headquarters, they take him to the Stork Club and buy him all the drinks he can down. They all sit around a large table, drinking and talking and laughing, and for a while all of them forget they're fighting in a war. Bucky sneaks an arm around Peggy's shoulders, and the brunette agent doesn't reject it, leaning a little closer into his side as she keeps up the drinking intake with the rest of the men.

Within a few hours, Bucky is only starting to get tipsy whilst the other Commandos are well-past wasted, the table in front of them littered with empty glasses. Bucky looks a little worried for a while, considering he's downed just as many drinks as the others and all his life he's been a bit of a lightweight. Before he came for the war, he probably would've been passed out by now. But Steve's been drinking as well, and even though he's had a serum, he shows no signs of intoxication, not even flushed cheeks, and Bucky starts to feel a little better. He and Steve can still talk and drink without feeling sick or getting dizzy, so maybe that's a plus.

Bucky leans over to his sister, whose cheeks are a little flushed herself, and whispers quietly so the others can't hear, "I know I was scared and worried about what they did to me, and I still am to some extent. But maybe it's not all bad," Bucky confides in her, tipping his beer glass to her before finishing it off.

"It won't be good for your bank account," Isabel laughs, referring to the rising price of their bar tab.

"True. I'll just have to choose something stronger but cheaper. Like vodka," he says with a shrug.

Bucky leaves the table and Peggy's warmth, returning with a tray of the bar's cheapest but strongest vodka shots. He downs a few, the alcohol seemingly affecting him immediately, but not as much as it probably should have.

After he gets a slight buzz going, Bucky feels the urge to dance, so he gets up and goes to the dancefloor, dragging Peggy along with him. He and Peggy dance a long while, Bucky encircling her in his arms. It's a different type of dancing to what they did at the Christmas party, intimate and slow, and they gaze into each other's eyes for a lot of the songs, smiling contentedly. Peggy eventually rests her head on Bucky's shoulder, breathing in his warmth and allowing herself to just be, to drop all of the expectations placed on her of being a strong-willed agent. She allows herself to just be a woman dancing with a man she'll even go as far to say she loves, because she does. Bucky has waltzed in and swept her off her feet in a way she never believed were possible. She supposes Bucky is the kind of person that has that effect on people, too. Everyone who meets the man loves him. He is just an easy person to love, and Peggy feels honoured she is the one who was granted his love in return.

He may be easy to love, but that also makes him difficult to leave. After hours of drinking and dancing, the clock strikes midnight, and Peggy unwillingly pulls away from Bucky, who looks content to dance for the rest of his life.

"I have to go, darling," Peggy says solemnly. "I have a meeting with Phillips in less than six hours."

Bucky pouts a little, but nods in understanding. "Let me walk you back," Bucky offers.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Stay with your friends and let loose for the night." Peggy kisses his lips swiftly, leaving a faint red stain. "I hope you enjoyed your birthday."

"I did. It's always a good day when you're with me," Bucky flirts.

Peggy laughs. "Smooth, Bucky. I'll see you tomorrow."

With one more kiss, she departs, only stopping to request that Steve make sure Bucky makes it safely to bed at the end of the night. Steve promises dutifully, even calling Peggy ma'am for added effect, before the agent leaves into the cold night air.

Bucky comes back to the table, looking dejected and much less happy than he had two minutes before. The Commandos tease him about his girl, but Bucky takes it all in his stride, laughing at their comments. He orders another round of drinks to replenish the buzz in his system, immediately feeling his head cloud once again.

He goes back to the dance floor, immediately finding a swarm of single women surrounding him. He has his pick of dames, choosing a red-haired Brit and pulling her into his arms. There's nothing in it, of course, but Bucky's always been a terrible flirt and a talented dancer, a pair of characteristics that seem to go hand-in-hand. The other Commandos watch intently as the Sergeant effortlessly picks up the girl and starts swinging her around the dance floor to the music, barely skipping a beat to the song they've never heard before.

"Agent Carter won't like that," Falsworth notes.

"Well she ain't here, is she?" Dugan retorts with a cheeky smile.

"Buck just can't help himself. A dame pouts a little and he's gotta cheer her up," Steve notes.

"It's just a bit of harmless dancing. Nothing like what he and Carter were doing before," Dugan reassures them.

Dugan eventually gets up himself, only stumbling slightly, and makes his way to the dejected group of women who watch Bucky and his dance partner with envy. He approaches them and takes one's hand, leading her to dance as well.

"Those girls must be getting desperate to dance with Dum Dum," Morita laughs. "Looks like we might just have a chance, fellas." He gets up a little stiffly thanks to the wound on his back from a few weeks ago and goes into the other room as well.

Eventually, only Steve, Isabel, Dernier and Jones remain at the table, watching the Commandos waltz their women around the room to Glenn Miller. Even Falsworth takes pity on the last remaining girl and dances with her, despite being married. There's no harm in it though, the two dancing jovially around the floor with a considerable space between them.

"You don't dance?" Isabel asks Jones, who watches the floor a little solemnly.

"I doubt many 'round here would be interested," Gabe replies, smiling sadly. "There are such things as segregation, Miss Barnes." Before Isabel can reply, Dernier slumps onto the table beside Gabe, unconscious. Gabe laughs, shaking his shoulder. "Little guy can't hold his drink."

Steve chuckles at Dernier who begins to snore, a small puddle of drool dripping onto the table. "Maybe I should take him home," Steve offers. "It's getting pretty late, anyway."

"It's okay, I'll take him," Gabe says. "You stay here with your girl."

"You sure?" Steve asks, ready to stand.

"I got it, Cap. You two have a good night. Or morning," Gabe reassures, looking at the clock on the wall.

He stands and rouses Dernier, picking him up with Dernier's arm over his shoulder. Jones leaves the Stork Club, practically carrying the mumbling Frenchman who only clings to drunken consciousness.

Isabel and Steve move to a booth in the corner, sitting close to each other and giggling like teenagers. It's almost comical to see the great, towering and strong Captain America getting dizzy with the dame, his arm around her, laughing with her and kissing her cheek. The Commandos smile over at them when they notice, proud that their Captain has managed to find happiness. It almost makes them hopeful that they'll all make it out, make it home to their own loves and families. It keeps them going.

A man with a camera walks around the bar taking photos. He makes his way through the crowds, snapping pictures of Bucky and the Commandos dancing, the flash filling the room and breaking through its dimly lit atmosphere for just a second. The photographer silently approaches Steve and Isabel in the corner and takes their picture, capturing the two of them laughing, heads bowed close. They startle, but then Steve smiles. He's grown used to the flash of camera and the stares of admirers. The photographer tells them to smile and they do, momentarily blinded by the flash before the photographer disappears again into the crowd.

After a good hour of dancing and laughing, Bucky sits at the bar, his dancing partner having left for the night. He orders himself drink after drink, seeing how far he has to go until he's wasted. He's calling it a scientific experiment, and he even convinces himself that Isabel can use the information for her monitoring of his changes. Even as he starts to feel the effects, he just keeps on going and the barman doesn't even bat an eye at him since he's seen how much Steve can put down.

After an hour or so, Bucky's head is spinning, and his speech gets a little slurred. The world seems to be twirling around him at a rapid pace. He hasn't felt like this in a long while, hasn't been drunk since he was back in Brooklyn many years ago, and it's equal parts annoying, exciting and comforting, considering he knows he _can_ get drunk just like everyone else.

Suddenly, he realises there's something he desperately need to tell Steve. Something tells him, though, not to tell Steve when Isabel is there.

When Dugan gets a little closer to him, Bucky grabs the man's arm and beckons him over. "My sister looks like she wants a dance, Dum Dum," Bucky tells him. "She's good at it."

"Okay," Dugan slurs, his eyes heavy, immediately walking over to Isabel and Steve.

Bucky watches as Dugan holds his hand out and offers a dance. Isabel smiles at Steve and then takes Dugan's hand, letting Dugan pull her onto the floor. Dugan's movements are horribly uncoordinated thanks to the alcohol in his system, but Isabel just dances along with laughter, letting Dugan show her all the moves he knows and catching him when he trips over his own feet.

Steve watches Isabel dance and humour Dugan's antics, his eyes sparkling. Bucky makes his move, a tiny part of him berating him because he knows that what he needs to tell Steve is going to ruin the blonde's mood. But he has to tell him, he _has_ to, so Bucky makes himself move. He slides off his stool and wobbles his way over to Steve, too drunk to even walk in a straight line. Steve sees him coming and stands just in time to catch him when he trips clumsily over his own feet and hits one of the tables, pulling Bucky into the seat beside him.

"Geez, Buck. How much have you had to drink?" Steve laughs.

"Lots and lots and lots," Bucky slurs, a dopey smile on his face. "I feel good, Steve. Sooo good."

"That's good, Bucky. I don't think you will tomorrow though."

"You seen Peggy? Isn't she just a doll?" Bucky gloats.

"Yeah, Buck. She's gorgeous. You did well," Steve tells him.

Bucky smiles at Steve, seemingly forgotten what he came over to tell Steve. But the memory comes back to him and he quickly grows serious again, an expression Steve is all too used to seeing on his normally full-of-life friend.

"Steve, I gotta tell you something," Bucky says, grabbing Steve's shoulder tight, both to stay upright and to get his attention.

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asks, equal parts curious and amused.

"You gotta promise you won't tell anyone."

"I promise," Steve says sincerely, humouring Bucky's alcohol-fuelled behaviour. He doesn't think he's seen Bucky this drunk since he first turned twenty-one and went a little whacky at his birthday party.

"You can't tell Peg, okay? Promise? It's about my time with Hydra," Bucky stage whispers.

Steve's eyebrows immediately widen. "What about it, Buck?"

"When I was in that factory, Zola… He gave me something. This thick grey liquid that burned my body and was so hot in my veins, it made me pass out from the pain. When I woke up, I dunno how long later, I felt different all over," Bucky stage whispers, his eyes wide like he's scared.

"Wh-What?" Steve stammers.

"You heard me, I know you got super hearin'. They gave me the liquid and I was different. Then they experimented on me. Stabbed me here, burnt me there, cut me all over and I healed real quick–"

"Buck–"

"I was so damn scared. I thought I was gonna die, and a part of me wanted that, but the rest of me wanted to live and go home. But then you came and saved me. You were just like me, and I felt a little better. That was when I realised what they did to me. I didn't know what it was until I saw you. You called it a serum and I just knew they did that to me, too. They made me like you. It all made sense, and I was scared for myself, but mainly I was so angry at you for doin' that. You coulda been killed, Stevie. Then where would we have been?"

"Bucky, I'm sorry, but I'm okay," Steve reassures.

"Yeah, you're okay," Bucky agrees, smiling again slightly. He looks away from Steve, seeming to slide slightly to one side as though he's falling asleep, his eyes drooping.

"What do you mean they experimented on you?" Steve pushes, poking Bucky's arm to keep him alert.

Bucky flutters his eyes open, widening them to force himself to stay awake. "They did things to me to see how fast I healed. Held me underwater, cut my skin, burned me. They did it and then they waited to see how long it took me to recover, how the skin repaired itself and the muscles stitched back together. Doctor Zola, he wrote it all down in his notes."

"Did you tell anyone? Did you tell the medics?" Steve asks worriedly, that pinch between his eyebrows.

"No, only Isabel. She knows, told her the day we got back to the camp in Italy. She said I was like you, just like I was thinkin' the whole walk back to camp. She wanted to tell you, she really did, but I didn't let 'er. I said no because I was so scared they'd want to experiment on me again, see what made me tick. Especially because of the chair, I didn't want them to look at my brain."

"What about your brain?" Steve pushes, his eyebrows furrowed in the way that means he's extremely worried.

"They put me in this metal chair, and these pads came down with electricity and they made me forget my memories. They put me in it all the time, multiple times a day I think, and it hurt so bad, Stevie. I was terrified because I kept forgettin' my name and serial number, but it always came back to me after a while," Bucky rambles, so fast he runs out of breath. "And Zola, he'd just smile down at me 'cause it was workin'. His prototype was workin'…" Bucky trails off, and Steve sees his eyes are filling with tears.

"Buck, it's okay. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you here, I won't let them," Steve reassures, putting an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Isabel, has she been monitoring you?"

"Yeah," Bucky sniffles. "But only her. No one else, ever."

"Okay, Buck," Steve agrees, his face pinched with worry. "Thanks for telling me, pal. Must have taken a lot."

"I wasn't s'posed to," Bucky says, his words slurring even more. "Was s'posed t'be a secret."

"Well I won't tell anyone, I promise," Steve says, patting Bucky's shoulder.

"You didn't like it. You look upset," Bucky notes, eyes widening in realisation that he's worried Steve.

But before Steve can answer, Bucky manages a small nod and then blacks out, his eyes rolling back into his head. He slides sideways off his seat, and Steve catches him just before his head hits the table.

* * *

 **A/N:** Bit of fluff, bit of angst. Bucky's secret has finally been revealed, even though Isabel very nearly let it slip back in the Hydra factory, but Falsworth has seemed to forget about that. And Bucky's learned that while there are some good aspects of the super-soldier serum, he isn't entirely immune to intoxication and the confessions that go along with that.

Just to let everyone know, I leave in about four hours for an overseas holiday so I've managed to squeeze one update in before I go. I'm heading to the United States and to one of my favourite places, New York! I did an assignment on New York a few months ago so I'm excited to get back and see the city I wrote about for myself with fresh eyes. Unfortunately, this means I won't be posting for about three weeks. While I'm away, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter and has a wonderful few weeks, and stay safe. Please continue to follow, favourite and review, it means the world to me. I'd love to know what you think of the story so far, the development of the characters, my portrayal of the 1940s era, just anything really. And I'd be interested in knowing where you think the story might go into the future!

Thanks everyone for your continued support, I'll see you all when I touch back down in Australia :)


	39. Chapter 38

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I'm back home in Australia after my holiday. I had a wonderful time exploring New York City and even wandered over to Brooklyn for a while to check it out. It was so amazing to see the place I've been writing about in person, even seventy years after I set my story. I'm back now and posting can resume regularly. Thank you all for your patience and thank you all for your follows, favourites and kind words of encouragement! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

 **38.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 11th, 1944**

The morning after the birthday celebrations for Bucky, he and the other Commandos make their way down to the mess hall for breakfast at their usual time. The hall is empty, being later in the morning, and the other SSR Agents have already eaten to start their day. A few minutes after they get settled in with their trays, Steve and Isabel appear after being in the labs with Stark for an early hour appointment. They both look a little tired and hungover, considering they all left the Stork Club only three hours before their meeting time was scheduled, but they're functioning nonetheless with a little help from caffeine and a serum.

Steve piles up his tray with food-like substances while Isabel chooses a bowl of cereal and milk. They take their usual seats, Bucky opposite them.

"You look like you slept in the gutter, Buck," Steve tells Bucky, eyeing his messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes. "I swear I put you to bed."

"Well, thanks. Like you look much better," Bucky says sarcastically, taking a bite of his watery eggs. "Not everyone can look like the sun shines out of their ass like you do, Stevie."

"Especially not after how much Serge put down last night," Jones adds. "Drank the entire bar clean."

"Besides, I didn't come here for judgement. I'm here for the food, and food doesn't care what I look like," Bucky finishes while he chews a mouthful of half-chewed eggs and toast

"Bucky, don't talk with your mouth full," Isabel berates, watching in disgust. "I swear, you all need your mothers."

"Yeah, Barnes, listen to your sister and eat your baby food," Dugan mocks, indicating to Bucky's own bowl of cereal waiting for him.

Bucky replies with a very undignified middle finger, but otherwise ignores them in favour of eating away his headache.

Steve watches Bucky carefully, but the man seems to have no recollection of their talk last night. Steve had spent the rest of the night and morning wondering whether any of it was actually true or if Bucky was simply making assumptions on what happened to him based on what he knows of Steve's transformation. But Isabel had confirmed it when Steve had asked her earlier that morning on their way to Howard's laboratories.

"He told you?" She'd asked incredulously, her eyes widening. "But he was so persistent making sure I didn't tell anyone!"

"So, it is true?"

"Yeah, it's true, Stevie," she'd admitted with a loud sigh. "I've been monitoring him, and he has the signs you do, although not at quite the same intensity. His metabolism is quickened, his overall health and strength increased. His healing factor is also much faster than the average human's, not that he's had many major injuries to test it. Whatever Zola gave him, it was a form of a super-soldier serum. Zola said Bucky had been the only survivor of the initial injection at that point."

"He was so scared last night," Steve had told her. "He was so terrified to tell me about what happened to him…"

"He was scared to tell anyone, Steve. He only really told me because I was the only person he trusted to be near him with any sort of medical equipment and he was too terrified to let it all go unchecked." She'd looked at Steve for a long while before putting a hand on his arm. "Don't take it to heart. Buck's seen things you and I can't even comprehend. It was just his way of dealing with what happened to him."

With that she'd walked into Howard's laboratories, leaving Steve to follow her inside for their meeting.

Steve ponders their conversation while he eats. He's glad Bucky told him because he would never want his friend to suffer with that sort of information alone and maybe them being similar now will put Bucky's mind at rest. It also explains why Bucky had such a rough time in the weeks following his liberation from the Hydra factory – the event was darker and much worse than simply Bucky being taken to the isolation room due to his illnesses. He'd been experimented on, tortured, injected, starved, and a whole other host of things Steve can't begin to consider. It makes it all seem worse, and it fuels both Steve's fears and his thirst for vengeance.

And now, Steve's got another thing to worry about. He really can't help how much he worries. If something happened to any of the Commandos he'd be a wreck and he doesn't sleep at night coming up with plans that will keep them out of trouble. But this is one thing about Bucky that Steve doesn't have any say in, and neither does Bucky. His friend's body has been permanently changed, and like Steve, they'll probably never know to what extent, especially since they don't know what Zola injected Bucky with. It's one thing Steve can't protect Bucky from, and it terrifies him.

Steve sighs. He decides he'll talk to Bucky about it later when they're alone and Bucky hopefully isn't drunk again. He hopes Bucky will be open to talking about it, especially since Steve knows almost everything anyway.

The Commandos eat silently in the mess hall, picking away at their food trays, staying away from the gloop of runny scrambled eggs which are an odd grey colour; all except for Steve and Bucky, who wolf down their meals without hesitation and without really chewing.

"Hungry boys?" Falsworth asks, eyeing Bucky in distaste as Bucky takes the eggs off of Dugan's plate and eats them too. Both Steve and Bucky nod at Falsworth's question, their mouths stuffed with food.

Isabel ponders this as she picks at a piece of toast. Ever since Bucky and Steve were given the super soldier serums, they've had the appetites of horses. Neither are ever full, always asking for seconds and thirds and even fourths of every meal, and always stealing the leftovers off other's plates. Neither seems to put on any weight either, no matter how much they eat. Steve is understandable – his body is constantly repairing his cells and self-healing, meaning he needs more calories. He also runs much hotter than the average person and does an awful lot of physical work. Bucky is much harder to assume for, since he isn't even sure how much he's been affected by the experiments in the Hydra labs. He has a healing factor, it's clear, though he hasn't really gotten injured enough to prove anything other than what he says Zola tested on him in his isolation. His temperature is slightly raised when compared to the other Commandos. He also seems to be getting musclier, his chest and arms seemingly growing every day, even when he's been mainly resting with little physical work apart from their missions, and on missions, food is often limited, so they all lose weight anyway. Still, much to Bucky's disappointment, he still looks quite small beside Steve, who's literally built like a house.

Peggy appears in the doorway after a few minutes, requesting Isabel's assistance in the laboratories with Stark. Isabel gets up quickly, excusing herself and leaving her half-full tray for Steve and Bucky to fight over, disappearing with Peggy down the hall.

The Commandos finish up their morning meals, poking fun at each other and laughing, when suddenly from outside the mess hall, there's a whole lot of screaming and yelling, the echo of running footsteps and of things being toppled onto the floor. Everyone looks up in alarm, jumping when gunshots fire outside. The Commandos jump up without hesitation and follow Steve outside the hall, their pistols raised.

Steve spots Isabel sprinting down the hallway toward them, her face filled with terror.

"Isabel, what's happening?" Steve asks, catching Isabel when she practically slams into him at full speed.

"It's Hydra, they've infiltrated the base. They're somewhere in the building," she replies hastily, her words tumbling over each other. She's breathing hard. "They knocked out Howard, stole all the blueprints, then they took Peggy hostage! She told me to run!"

"Split up," Steve immediately commands. Jones and Dernier take the hallway to the left, Dugan, Morita and Falsworth heading to the right toward the elevator, leaving Bucky to follow Steve. "Stay with me," Steve tells Isabel and she doesn't argue, following behind Steve next to Bucky.

* * *

At the end of the hallway, Jones and Dernier enter Howard's lab. Jones scopes the area with his gun raised, communicating with Dernier in rapid French. The lab is trashed, with boxes of equipment and various notes scattered all over the floor. The blueprints to the machinery and weaponry Howard was working on and improving are missing, the table they'd been laid out on empty apart from a few pencils and rulers, some fallen to the floor. Isabel and Doctor Erskine's work books are also missing, all the progress Isabel had gained trying to decipher Erskine's formula vanished.

Jones and Dernier find Howard lying on the ground in the middle of the lab, a cut on his forehead and a large bruise forming around it. One of the prototype guns has clattered to the ground beside him, Howard having been knocked out with the butt of the handle by the infiltrating attackers. Jones shakes Stark awake, carefully helping him sit up. The scientist groans loudly in pain and clutches his throbbing head.

"What'd they take?" He murmurs, getting up to look around the lab.

"A few blueprints, we think," Jones tells him.

Howard pauses, rushing to the table where the blueprints had been and throwing things around searching for something. "Oh no," he mutters, running a hand over his hair. "Get onto Cap. We need those workbooks back for the serum, but he needs to get those blueprints back or we and our boys out in the trenches will be in for a hell of a lot of trouble."

* * *

Isabel, Bucky, and Steve emerge into the main operations room, finding most of the agents and soldiers cowering underneath desks or being tended to for bullet wounds. Some of them were shot in the event trying to stop the invaders from taking the blue prints, now paying for their bravery by bleeding out underneath the nurse and doctor's hands.

"Where have they gone?" Steve demands, glaring at the other cowardly agents under the desks.

One braver man points them in the right direction, back toward the elevator. "They got lost, came barging in here demanding to know how to get out. Shot those of us who tried to stop them."

Steve immediately takes off down the hallway in the direction he's shown, not listening to the last of the man's explanation. As they get closer to the elevator, they hear the sounds of a scuffle. A male voice echoes down the hall, as well as Peggy's more feminine curses. They follow the noise, the man's voice becoming more distinct as they get closer.

"You let us go safe and I won't hurt her," they hear the man yell warningly.

"Let go, you son of a b–," Peggy grunts, struggling against her attacker.

"The elevators open," Dugan says. "Go ahead, escape. But give us the girl."

Steve and the Barnes' round the corner just in time to see Peggy glare at Dugan for referring to her as "the girl". In any other situation, they would have laughed. Instead, what they're confronted with makes all of their stomachs turn.

A blonde Hydra agent, masquerading in a stolen SSR uniform disguise, has Peggy in a death grip, clutching her against him with a gun to the delicate skin of her throat. His other hand holds a bundle of blueprints and note pages from the lab. Isabel and Erskine's books must be with another man.

Peggy looks furious, struggling against the Hydra agents hold, throwing various curses at the man.

"Shut up, you insipid thing," the German hisses, earning a growl from Peggy. He looks up then, seeing Steve standing in the entrance way, deciding on an angle to attack from. "Ah, Captain America. I was wondering how long it would be before you came to the rescue."

"Let her go, now," Steve growls, his fists clenching.

Bucky moves around to stand at Steve's right, his pistol aimed right at the head of the Kraut. Bucky glares at the man, challenging him.

"You shoot me, I'll shoot her," the German warns Bucky.

Bucky's eyes flick to Steve, and then to Peggy, who nods carefully. At Peggy's nod, Bucky slowly lowers his gun to his side, but discreetly keeps his fingers on the trigger in preparation. He knows he could shoot the man easily without harming Peggy, but the man presses the gun further into Peggy's neck as a warning, and Bucky backs off.

"Ah, who's the girl?" The Kraut asks, looking around Steve to Isabel, who cowers behind Steve's back, peeking over at the scene in front of her. Steve's arm protectively moves behind him, gripping Isabel's back.

"That's not anything for you to worry about," Steve hisses, his vision going red at the thought of Hydra knowing anything about Isabel.

"Fine, fine. Be that way. I'm sure I can find out from Red Skull, or maybe even Madame Hydra. She mentioned something about running into you. I'm surprised you made it out alive at all." The Kraut, looks unfazed, smirking at the American Captain.

"Cut to the chase," Steve demands. "You got your blueprints, now what do you want? Why are you stalling?"

"Well, this mission didn't quite go to plan. We weren't supposed to be caught when we were recovering the intel, but things happen. Now, I have to bargain with you to ensure my mission is successful. You let me go without pursuing me and I'll let the dame go. I'll leave her upstairs for you," he offers, making Peggy grunt again in warning.

He takes a step backward into the elevator, and then another, dragging Peggy along with him. Peggy goes willingly, wary of the gun pressing against her throat. Steve lets him go, holding up his empty hands in surrender, instead looking at the stairwell to the right. If he runs fast enough, he'll easily be able to beat the elevator to the ground floor and intercept the man's escape.

The elevator doors seem to close in slow motion, Peggy and the Kraut disappearing, leaving only a sliver of them visible between the two doors. Just as Steve makes to move toward the stairs, the Kraut inside the elevator randomly fires his gun between the remaining gap in the doors, sending rogue bullets out into the hallway as the doors close fully, concealing them. The Commandos hit the ground instantly, Steve dragging Isabel down with him. Except, Isabel notices, he hasn't dragged her down. Rather, Steve's fallen backward on top of her and squashed her underneath him.

Steve feels the burning of his chest, the intense pain before he looks down, two holes ripped through his clothes from two bullets now lodged neatly in his chest. The doors close with a small thud, and everyone uncovers their heads, safe for now from the barrage.

Steve splutters from the pain, watching as blood begins to soak his dress uniform. But he has to climb the stairs, he has to stop them from getting away and hurting Peggy.

"Steve?" Isabel asks from below him, rather breathless and winded from having a super soldier land on top of her. She squirms out from under him, freeing her legs, and gasps when she sees the two bullet holes. "Steve!"

"I-I'm fine," Steve assures, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. "It doesn't hurt."

"What? Of course it does," she argues, standing to follow him. "You can't–"

"I have to go," Steve breathes, the pain making his eyes water.

He takes off up the stairs in a stumble, slightly off balance, his feet feeling too heavy to lift. Jones comes sprinting down the corridor and passes Isabel and the other Commandos in a blur with the Captain's shield held in his hands. He follows Steve up the stairs and out of sight.

Steve emerges on the ground floor. The elevator doors are already wide open, the main door to the building also open, allowing entry to the cold morning air. Peggy lays face down on the floor beside the elevator, knocked out and thrown down by her attacker. Steve runs to her and flips her over gently, tapping her face lightly, wary of the blossoming bruise on her own forehead from the butt of a gun.

"Peggy. Peg, wake up. It's Steve."

Peggy coughs awake looking up at Steve with a frown. "Steve? What are you doing here, go get them!"

"Right," Steve says. "I think Isabel is coming," he reassures, leaving Peggy lying on the stone floor of the lobby.

As he passes the stairwell again on his way toward the exit, Bucky and Isabel emerge, looking around wildly for Steve and Peggy. Steve points them to Peggy, and only has time to see Isabel hurry to her fallen friend before he and Jones burst out the doors of the building.

Steve spots the blonde Kraut, blueprints in hand, clambering into a subtle black car two blocks down. The car roars to life and speeds off of the curb, the screeching tyres leaving black rubber marks on the asphalt. The car races toward Steve, mounting the curb and attempting to run him down. It roars along the footpath and Steve stands in front of it, pistol raised, shooting toward the driver. He misses the driver but the scare of the bullets hitting the windshield causes the car to swerve just a little too much. Steve pushes Jones out the way just in time, the man dodging the speeding car by millimetres. Steve jumps into the air, clearing the car before it hits him. He just manages to grab hold of the roof of the car, riding it down the street.

The car swerves violently to shake him off of the roof, and Steve's grip isn't quite enough to hang on as he's flung around. He falls from the back of the car, just managing to land on his feet, but they're going fast and he falls forward at the momentum and force, tucking into a roll and managing to get to his feet again in one smooth movement, scuffing up the material on the shoulder of his dress uniform.

Steve keeps chasing after the car, running as fast as his dress shoes and the bullet wounds in his chest allow, managing to somewhat keep up. The car speeds down the busy street, dodging cars and causing others to divert out of the way, crashing into buildings and poles and other cars, and screeching to halts. Steve jumps over a car in his way, clearing it, landing steadily on his feet.

Steve looks backward over his shoulder and sees Jones and Dugan trying to follow, having to run around crashed cars rather than jumping them. Bucky easily gains on them further back from his late start, eventually passing the others. His face is set in a determined scowl, most likely due to the fact that one of these men injured his girl. Dugan and Jones look puffed, but Bucky strides out even longer, faster, trying to catch up to the Captain and offer his assistance. Steve glances back again just as Bucky himself clears a car by jumping over the bonnet, and Steve wonders how he never realised before that Bucky had enhancements of his own.

Steve looks back to the road ahead of him, surveying the area. On a whim, he throws his shield ahead of him, smashing it into the bottom of a light post ahead of the car. The shield slices through the metal pole and embeds itself there. Steve says a silent prayer it falls the right way and luckily it does. The light post totters and falls to the ground over the road, about to block the car's escape. However, the car doesn't slow or even hesitate, instead flooring the gas and racing fast enough that it flies underneath the falling post, the pole only clipping the end of the boot and causing the car to swerve slightly from its straight route.

"Dammit," Steve hisses under his breathe. He stops to dislodge the shield from the metal post, taking off again, now even further back than before.

The buildings pass in a blur as Steve pursues but no matter how fast he runs, he slowly falls further and further behind as the car continues to pick up speed when it gets a clear space.

Suddenly, the back-passenger window rolls down, and another agent with long dark hair leans out, a handheld machine gun clasped in his hands. His face lifts in a devilish smile as he pulls the trigger, bullets flying toward Steve. The super soldier runs in a slight zig zag to avoid them, holding the shield up. He hears the Commandos behind him yelling at pedestrians to get inside and avoid the flying bullets.

Steve's chest is burning, feeling as though its tearing with every movement, and his blood feels warm as it spews down his chest and clothes. The pain is almost getting too much, and he knows he needs medical attention. He wants to stop, to lie down on the ground and just try to breathe, but he knows he can't stop fighting now. He ignores the pain and discomfort for one last ditch effort, chucking the shield low to the ground toward the wheels of the car and temporarily putting him at risk of being shot. The shield makes a metallic noise as it hits the rubber tyre, slicing through the tyre and into the car's chasse.

The car spins out wildly without a back wheel, veering straight into the wall of a nearby building at a deadly pace. There's an almighty crash, the building concaving on the side, the bricks separating to allow for the car that has driven partially through the wall. Then, all falls silent, except for the steaming noise coming from the crumpled engine.

Steve jogs up to the car, doubled over a little and clutching his chest tightly. He reaches into the smashed back window, roughly pulling out the closest agent through the hole. The agent isn't breathing, his forehead soaked from a terrible wound hidden in his hairline, most likely from colliding with the headrest of the seat in front. Steve lets the body drop to the ground outside, peering back into the car. Two other men are inside, sitting in the driver's seat and front passenger's seat – or at least, they were. Both of them have flown forward through the glass windscreen, laying sprawled across the bonnet of the car. A pool of blood trails down the bonnet, dripping down onto the footpath below. They stare silently ahead, blue eyes wide. Steve gulps at the sight of them.

"Jeez, Steve. Talk about taking them out," a sarcastic voice says from behind Steve. Bucky stops next to Steve, not even one bit puffed from the chase. He looks down thoughtfully at the deceased Hydra agents. "Not bad."

Bucky reaches carefully into the car, avoiding the broken glass, and takes the blueprints and notebooks out from where they sit on the backseat. He tucks them safely into his jacket and nods to Steve.

"The SSR are coming, they said they'll look after this," Jones tells them through laboured breathing, finally catching up to the pair. Behind him, a few dozen agents are reporting to the scene, seemingly recovered from the shock of the infiltration.

"Let's get out of here, you need medical attention, Captain," Dugan says authoritatively, leaving no room for argument from Steve.

The Captain nods in agreement, taking Bucky's offer to put his arm over his shoulder. He puts more weight on Bucky than he would have anyone else, but he knows now his friend can handle it.

A crowd of Londoners have begun to gather around the car, pointing in awe at Captain America standing before them in the flesh, albeit without his star-spangled costume. The Commandos turn away from the crashed car and hurriedly make their way back to the SSR base, ignoring the calls and shouts from the bystanders. Steve doesn't even have the energy left in him to smile and wave at his loyal British fans, just like Brandt told him to.

* * *

Isabel forces Steve into a hospital bed, his dress shirt and jacket soaked with blood.

"Take them off," she tells him.

It takes a while to get the jacket off and Isabel has to help him thread his arms out as he winces and cries out in pain. He's too tired and pained to hold it in any longer. He can't be bothered unbuttoning his dress shirt and so rips it off, throwing it on the floor and leaving him bare chested.

Steve lays down in exhaustion, looking up at the bright fluorescent light above him. He feels like a heavy weight is sitting on his chest and every breath is a struggle, the air not seeming to be coming in. He feels quite lightheaded, and somewhat like he's drowning. It reminds him of all of his bouts of pneumonia and asthma before the serum, and the idea of being sick like that again makes him cringe.

Isabel's face appears over his after a second, and she looks frustrated. "I can't believe you fought like that with these wounds," she clicks her tongue, examining the three bullet wounds.

"It's really not that bad. I had to get the blueprints and the notes," Steve says, though his breathing is laboured from the pain. "I think it hurts more because my body is trying to push them out, not because of the actual wound."

Isabel pokes and prods at the bullet wounds, cleaning them with an antiseptic wipe that makes Steve's flinch. She wipes away a lot of the blood, revealing the three deep bullet holes, one near Steve's heart and the other two further down between his lungs.

"This one's very close to your heart," Isabel mutters. "You got lucky."

"Dunno if that's what I'd call it," Steve grumbles.

"I think one may have pierced your lung," she continues, looking closer. "That's why you can't breathe."

At that, Steve coughs, bringing up a handful of dark blood that Isabel just manages to catch in the cloth she holds in her hands, stopping the blood from spewing all over Steve. He coughs it all up, struggling to breathe as Isabel pats his back. It's like all those times Isabel or Bucky beat the phlegm from his lungs in his Ma's shabby little apartment.

When he's finished, Steve frowns down in disgust at the black blood in the white cloth and the thick blood clots, but Isabel seems unfazed, chucking it in the small bin beside her and grabbing another cloth to clean his wounds.

The coughing and blood confirms Isabel's suspicions. "Dammit, I hope that can heal on its own. I'm hardly a surgeon. I'll give you some morphine and try to numb the area, but I highly doubt pain medication will work. Your body with synthesize it too quickly for it to take effect," Isabel tells him.

She prepares the syringe of clear liquid, squeezing a small amount out the top to get rid of any air bubbles. She does as promised, inserting the needle into the crook of Steve's elbow. Steve feels the liquid enter his system, and only registers the hit of the morphine for a minute before it fades away again.

"Did it work?" She asks after a minute, preparing the medical equipment and a small kidney tub.

"No, it's worn off. Do it anyway," Steve tells her, bracing himself.

Isabel looks at him wide-eyed. Steve nods again and gives her a pained smile. She frowns before nodding, slowly digging in and pulling out the lodged bullets and all of its shrapnel in swift motions as though she'd done it a thousand times. She drops the pieces into the kidney tub with a metallic thunk. Steve grits his teeth and looks up at the ceiling, feeling the discomfort of having the cold metal tweezers inside his body like that. There's quite a bit of shrapnel, the bullets disintegrating with the force. Isabel digs around for a very long time removing every piece of shrapnel she possibly can. She jolts when she realises that Steve's body is actually helping her, pushing the deepest pieces of shrapnel out of his body so she can easily remove them. It makes her job very easy, and she quickly completes it, deeming the wounds clean.

The pain subsides after a good half-hour and Steve can feel a fuzzy sensation in his chest as the muscle reconnects, sewing itself back together. He can also feel something crawling over his lungs, and he assumes it's the tissue repairing the damage. He holds up a hand and then points to the wounds with a painful frown. He waits and waits, for nearly another half an hour, feeling the wounds sew themselves together. Isabel watches too, a notepad in her hands as she documents it all. After nearly an hour all up, Steve's breath seems to be coming easier, his lungs filling entirely with sweet, sweet oxygen.

Over another good hour, Isabel cleans the wounds completely and swabs the area with more disinfectant, though she doesn't even know if Steve can get an infection. She watches as the skin is already healing itself as she works, the wounds getting less deep with every minute that passes.

"Your healing factor is incredible," she tells him truthfully, getting out a roll of bandages.

"Comes in handy," Steve admits, feeling much less pain now that the intruding bullets have been removed and the bleeding is stopping.

"Sit up, please," Isabel tells him, and Steve obeys. Isabel quickly works the bandage around Steve's torso, over and under his arms, until the wounds are tightly wrapped with the gauze and his shoulders are also restricted to keep his torso upright and straight. "It'll be a little tight for a while, but you can probably take these bandages off in a day or two. I'll check on you tomorrow, change the bandages. You're lucky, any other fella would have to be bandaged up for weeks if they even made it after the stunts you pulled."

"Okay," Steve agrees, his voice still a little breathless. He lies back again, exhausted, watching dopily as she starts putting away the equipment. "Thank you."

Isabel turns to smile at him. "You're welcome," she says, coming closer to peck his lips lightly.

When she pulls away and turns back to the equipment laying on the tray, Steve speaks up. "Want to tell me why those blueprints were so important?" He asks, swallowing hard against the dryness of his throat. The healing has really taken a toll on him.

Isabel notices and goes to the sink, pouring him a glass of water and helping him sip from it. "What makes you think I know?" Isabel asks.

"You spend a lot of time in Howard's lab. He didn't tell you about it?"

Isabel sighs, putting the now empty glass on the bedside table. "I promised not to tell. It's confidential."

"I won't say anything to Stark. If he asks, I'll say I read the blueprints myself when I found them. It doesn't have to come from you," Steve promises, sitting up a little more to be at eye level with Isabel.

She sighs and sits on the bed beside him, taking his hand in hers.

"Most of the notes they stole were about the super soldier serum. My notes, actually. You already know that Howard and I have been trying to decode the formula from Erskine's notes. Obviously, Hydra is trying to recreate it as well, and getting the notes from our progress would help them immensely. They want an army of soldiers to fight against you, to win the war for them. Doctor Zola is working on that, and it would be much easier for them to synthesize one if they have the information Howard and I have found from Erskine's notes. They would've been saved an awful lot of trouble. But the blueprints… They're different entirely. I have no idea how Hydra would have found out about that."

"What were they for?"

"Howard didn't tell me a lot about them since he abandoned the program long ago. It's all classified anyway, so he probably wasn't supposed to tell me," she ponders thoughtfully. "They are for planes that are intended to release a gas over the allied soldiers, but not to kill them or anything," she reassures hurriedly. "The gas is supposed to keep the soldiers awake for days so that they don't need sleep and therefore have less chance of being attacked and more time for actually fighting the enemy. Howard hasn't been able to get the formula right, though. He doesn't think it will ever work. He designed the plane to spread the gas and everything but the gas itself isn't ready. Hydra must want a piece of the pie."

"Why would Stark make that?"

"He was asked to. The project is called Midnight Oil. It was commissioned by some of the officers of the Army, but don't ask me who because I don't know. That's all I know about it. Stark had the blueprints out because he was modifying them. He abandoned Midnight Oil long ago, but he thought the design for the plane could be useful for something else."

"And we can guess why Hydra would want the plans for a gas that keeps their soldiers awake. If their soldiers don't have to sleep, they'll have an entire functioning army at every second. But you said it doesn't work. Why would they want a gas that doesn't work?" Steve wonders aloud.

"Maybe they don't know that Stark couldn't do it," Isabel shrugs. "I don't know. But if they do know that it hasn't been a success, knowing Hydra, something tells me it isn't good."


	40. Chapter 39

**39.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 11th, 1944**

Only a few days after Hydra breaks into the SSR base, a group of US Army higher-ups gather in London for a meeting. They sit around quietly, discussing amongst themselves the events that transcribed in that underground bunker and how Captain America and his Howling Commandos had managed to once again save the day, stopping the Hydra agents from stealing damnable blueprints and notes from the laboratories of Howard Stark.

"Stark's invention was almost ripped from our grasp. If Hydra gets a hold of that damn gas, we'll never beat them. They'll be unstoppable, especially when paired with their weaponry they keep spitting out. They make guns that can disintegrate people and tanks into thin air. And did you hear about those motorbikes Rogers' found? They had damn flamethrowers and grenade launchers on the front of them. How can we compete with that?" One of the men says, looking at their superior.

"By making our own."

"Why did we even ask Stark to make that gas anyway?"

"And why did Stark even have the blueprints out? He chose to abandon Project Midnight Oil months ago; turned down a pretty big pay packet too," another says.

"Howard Stark," four-star officer General John McGinnis cuts in, halting all conversation, "is the best damn industrialist in this war, and possibly the world. We asked him to make that gas to keep our soldiers awake for days to give us an edge. He turned down the project, most likely because of the pressure of it. If it goes wrong, a whole lot of men are going to be affected all at once. My understanding is that Stark had the blueprints out because he was making amendments to the plane's design, thinking it could be used for transporting the Howling Commandos to their destinations much faster than our average planes. There must have been a Hydra agent on the inside of that base for them to find out about those prints. The SSR agents believe it was one of the men killed in Captain Rogers' pursuit, that they were undercover, but they are beginning a deeper investigation."

"What are we going to do then, General?" The first man asks. "Hydra knows that we have this gas. They're going to want it, and they won't stop until they steal our plans or recreate it themselves."

"That's true," McGinnis agrees thoughtfully.

"But did Stark's experiments even work?" Another asks. "Maybe that's why he put the project on hold, because it wasn't successful?"

"Stark's a genius, of course it worked," a third protests.

"I'm sure it worked, Stark probably just didn't agree with the pay and the pressure," McGinnis says, nodding his head. "Hydra wants to release that gas on their own troops? Well I got news for them; we're going to release it first."

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 13th, 1944**

Isabel gets a phone call to her room at nearly three o'clock in the morning, the phone ringing loudly on the receiver on the bedside table. She groans and rolls over, feeling on the table for the phone. She clutches it in her hand and holds it to her ear.

"'lo?" She answers groggily.

In the other bed, Peggy stirs with a grumble.

"Isabel? It's Howard," the male voice says, rather hurriedly.

"Stark? I told you not to call me in the middle of the night when you've finished a projec–"

"No, Barnes. It isn't that," Howard says seriously.

Isabel sits up at the sound of his voice. Howard never calls her by her surname unless it's something very serious. "Howard, what's happened?" She asks, her heart thumping in her chest. Her mind whirrs at all the things that could have gone wrong, but she has a suspicion that it has something to do with the infiltration of the base only a few days ago.

"I'll explain everything, I promise. Just… meet me at the tarmac. Wear your combat gear."

With that, the phone hangs up. Isabel stares at it for a second before she races out of bed. She stumbles around in the dark, throwing on her uniform, hopping on one leg as she threads her legs into her pants. She doesn't even know how she'll get to the tarmac – she'll have to take a taxi. There's be no drivers around this time of the morning. And should she go alone? Maybe she should wake someone to go with her, at least to escort her to the tarmac. She could wake Steve and Bucky, but they'd only insist on coming, and maybe Howard doesn't want that? She needs someone who'll take her to the tarmac and be willing to leave if they aren't needed–

"Isabel? What are you doing?" Peggy mumbles, sitting up in bed and frowning into the dark.

"Howard needs me to meet him at the tarmac. I think there's been an emergency," Isabel huffs, turning away from Peggy and taking off her nightgown, replacing it with her white t-shirt.

"I'm coming with you," Peggy decides, abandoning the warmth of her bed as well. That settles Isabel's question of who to bring along, though she doubts the agent will be willing to leave.

Peggy gets ready much more smoothly than Isabel does and the two leave their dorm room rather quickly, heading straight for the elevator. Isabel fixes her hair into a bun while the elevator descends toward the ground floor of the lobby, using the reflective walls of the elevator as a mirror.

When the doors open, the two women walk out of the building into the cool night air and manage to hail one of the lone black taxicabs to take them to the tarmac on the outskirts of the city. The drive is tense and filled with silence, the two women having no idea why the famed inventor would be calling them out to the tarmac at three o'clock in the morning.

"Maybe we should have gotten Steve to come," Isabel says reluctantly as they get closer to their destination. "What if Stark's being used as bait or something?"

"I must admit, I did think of that, but it's a little late now," Peggy says, as the car pulls up to the tarmac. She hands over the fare and opens her door. "I guess we're about to find out."

Peggy pulls out her pistol as they walk into the open field, keeping it close to her side, the flaps of her jacket concealing it from view. The women carefully walk across the tarmac toward Howard Stark, who sits on the ground beside their designated plane waiting for them with his head in his hands.

"Howard? What's going on?" Isabel asks, cutting through the silence of the field.

Howard's eyes snap up to meet Isabel's and then Peggy's, but he doesn't seem fazed that Peggy came along. Perhaps that was what he intended.

"Oh, thank God," Howard mutters, standing from his stoop and immediately pulling Isabel into a hug. "Something terrible has happened and it's all my fault."

"What?" Isabel asks, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"Get in the plane, I'll explain on the way."

"No, Stark, you'll explain now," Peggy demands, pulling Isabel away from Howard and glaring at him warningly. "We are not getting in some damned plane with you until you tell us what's going on."

Stark takes a deep breath. "Midnight Oil," he says on the breath out.

"Were the blueprints stolen again?" Peggy asks immediately, a harsh tone to her voice.

"No, no. Not stolen, exactly. A bunch of US Army officers came in the day they were stolen and said that all evidence of the project was to be collected up and given to them. I assumed that they wanted to put it into protection after what happened and I thought that best, so I handed it all over. I thought nothing of it."

"So, what's the problem?" Peggy pushes.

"The problem is that only an hour ago, I got word that the US Army released tons of the gas over our Allied troops in the trenches. They've been engaged in warfare with a German and Soviet battalion for months, have been in a stalemate. They thought the gas would give the Allies the advantage. It spread rapidly to all of them, the Germans as well. It was much more potent than I ever thought."

"But you said it wasn't ready?" Isabel breathes. "Why would they release it?"

"It wasn't ready and I didn't authorise the release," Howard agrees, running a hand through his hair. "I- The experiments, they were a failure. I tested the gas on myself while I was creating it, a small dose so that any effects would only be very temporary. I showed signs similar to extreme sleep deprivation – anger, hallucinations, psychosis. It was terrible and terrifying. That's why I decided not to hand it in. A smart idea by me, but I didn't go about it the right way. I stupidly let my own pride get in the way of telling the officers who commissioned it the true effects it had on those exposed. Instead, I just said that it wouldn't work. I didn't want to admit the extent to which I'd failed, and I was too scared of the effects repeating themselves to alter the formula and try again."

"So the troops…?" Peggy trails off. "There's been no reports other than the initial release?"

"No. I have no idea what would have happened to them with that amount and concentration of the gas."

Isabel and Peggy share a glance, before Peggy gets a determined look in her eyes. "Then we need to go now. Survey the damage," Peggy decides.

Howard nods and climbs aboard the plane, sitting in the cockpit seat. Peggy takes the co-pilot seat in the cockpit, leaving Isabel to strap herself into one of the passenger seats.

"Steve and Bucky are going to freak," Isabel mutters worriedly.

She watches through the small windows as the plane leaves the ground and ascends into the pitch-black sky, dark clouds eventually engulfing them.

* * *

The flight is smooth and short, the plane rumbling across the sky. They luckily don't encounter any enemy fire. Howard lands the plane in a large field somewhere near Finow in Germany. Once the engines have been shut down and Howard has switched off all of the necessary attachments, Peggy opens the cabin door once again.

She steps out carefully, pistol raised, but pauses at the sight before her. Isabel peers out as well and goes still, her eyes scanning the muddy terrain.

In the distant battlefield, over a system of trenches in No Man's Land, is a mass of bloody corpses of men, scattered around in clumps. They fall over one another, all of them stained red with their own blood and the blood from others around them.

Isabel pushes past Peggy and carefully makes her way into the field despite the voice in her mind screaming at her not to go out into the open without protection. She jumps over the abandoned trench easily and comes to a stop above the closest fallen soldier. He wears the Soviet uniform and a pair of dog tags around his neck, but his face is almost unrecognizable. It's been scratched to pieces, the skin hanging in flaps, his eyes bleeding from scratches that gash across the blue of his irises. Isabel puts two fingers to his neck to check for any signs of a pulse but there is none, and all she gets for her efforts is a hand coated in blood.

Isabel slowly stands and turns toward Howard, her face fallen. "Howard. What the hell happened?" She asks, her voice cracking and tears threatening to spill over.

Howard looks at her, and then looks around them, his face a pale green colour. Suddenly he's doubling over, throwing up into the grass by his feet. He falls to his knees and begins to rack with sobs, hiding his face in his hands.

Isabel keeps walking further into No Man's Land, unnaturally quiet for the middle of enemy territory. The lack of gunfire or explosions in the distance is unnerving. She checks a man every now and then, ones that look as though they may have been spared, but none of them have a heartbeat. They're all cold, indicating they've been dead for at least a few hours. Their eyes stare up at her in the low light of the moon, unblinking, and she feels her own stomach turn uncomfortably. She gulps it down and continues, making a round circle around the hundreds of dead soldiers.

Eventually, she clears the trench again and walks back to Peggy. "They're all dead, there's no survivors," Isabel tells her quietly. "But not from the gas. Their injuries are all external. I- Peggy, I think they did this to each other. The symptoms Howard described… the gas must have made them all attack each other."

Peggy stares at Isabel a moment, before she looks to Howard. "Stark, you need to work out what's happened here," she tells him, her voice lacking all sympathy. She's being authoritative, trying to snap Howard into gear, but it doesn't work. Howard doesn't move from his spot on the ground, but his sobs have diminished.

Isabel kneels down beside him, putting a gentle hand on his back. "Howard, this isn't your fault," she punctuates. "You didn't do this to these men. You didn't release the gas. You told them that it wouldn't work, and they didn't listen. All these deaths… They are not on your conscience. They're on whoever commanded those men to gain access to the blueprints and whoever commanded those planes to drop the gas, not you."

Howard looks up then, meeting Isabel's eyes. "That may be easy for you to say, but I still made the gas. If I hadn't even tried, this never would've happened."

"You can't be sure of that. If they wanted the gas bad enough, they could have commissioned someone else to do it. This is not on you," she punctuates again, pulling Howard into a tight hug. Howard hugs back eventually, resting his chin on Isabel's shoulder.

Suddenly, a voice speaks up from their right. Isabel jumps away from Howard and draws her pistol reflexively, standing beside Peggy, who's gun is trained on a man emerging from the trees. The darkness makes it hard to see him, but as he gets closer, they see that it is a Russian soldier, his eyes tortured and his face stuck in one of permanent terror.

The man spots Howard Stark on the ground and his face curls into one of anger. The soldier rushes Howard and grabs the inventor before Peggy can stop him, slamming Howard into the side of the plane with a loud, metallic thud. Howard cries out.

"What have you done?" The soldier snarls, his voice thick with his accent.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Howard immediately mutters over and over, tears flooding again.

The Russian slams him back harder into the metal, ignoring the gun that Peggy points right into the side of his head and her voice yelling at him to let go of Howard.

"You're sorry?" He snarls, laughing without humour.

"Hey! He didn't ask for the gas to be released. The US Army stole it from him and released it on their own terms. You're beating up the wrong man," Isabel growls, grabbing the man's collar and dragging him off Howard with a surprising amount of strength thanks to the rush of adrenaline.

The man stumbles backward but remains on his feet. He glares at Isabel, but his demeanour changes slowly. "Who released it?"

"General John McGinnis," Stark says with shaky breath. "He commissioned the gas from me months ago, but it didn't work so I scrapped the project and planned to never go back to it again. McGinnis obviously had other plans. He had the documents stolen from my laboratories."

"Do you know what your damned creation does?"

"I see it now," Howard cries.

"And I saw it while it happened. I was only spared because I had a gas mask to protect myself. My comrades were not so lucky."

"What's your name, soldier?" Peggy asks, not taking her gun off the man.

"Sergeant Johann Fennhoff, eighteenth infantry of the Soviet forces," he replies. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't threaten me," he growls, referring to Peggy's weapon.

Peggy lowers it slightly but keeps her finger on the trigger. "I don't take orders from you. What happened, Fennhoff?"

Fennhoff sighs loudly, running his hands through his hair. He looks around at the fallen bodies of both his men and his enemy. "My unit was trying to crush the German defences in the area," the man explains in a heavily accented voice. "We're all fighting, shooting back and forth, when all of a sudden these Air Force planes fly loudly overhead, and this green gas comes down from them. It engulfs us, and everyone starts to cough as they breathe it in. I was quick, I threw on my gas mask, but now I wish that I didn't. I watched as all the men went mad, hundreds of soldiers with seemingly one thought on their minds – to kill everyone around them."

"Everyone started acting like animals, biting each other, slitting each other's throats, gouging their eyes out and cutting their skin. I immediately ran to the tree line and hid, watching the madness unfold. I watched my friends and brothers and enemies die at each other's hands and there was nothing I could do about it without getting killed myself. Eventually, the field was like it is now, hundreds of bloody corpses. There was one man left standing, and he was rabid. He was looking around for something else to kill and eventually his eyes fell on me. He rushed me, and I shot him. Put him out of his misery and saved myself."

Isabel stares at the man, her eyebrows furrowed. No one seems to know what to say. Howard's face screws up further, his cheeks wet with salty tears.

"I've been here for hours, just waiting for someone to come around and see the damage. The Germans came first, a whole troop of them. They investigated the area and I hid up the tree. They saw the corpses and they took a lot of their dead back with them, as many as they could carry. Left the rest to rot, I guess, unless they're planning on coming back."

Even Peggy's breath hitches at the thought of the Germans returning without back up. Likely, they'll come after dawn, leaving them only a few hours to sort out their game plan. "What do we do?" Isabel asks Peggy.

"What do you do?" Fennhoff growls. "You make that McGinnis fucker pay for what he did to us, for what he did to my men and my brother. I don't want that man living another day on this Earth, not if it's the last thing I do."

Peggy sighs. "I understand your frustration, Fennhoff, but–"

"But nothing will happen because McGinnis is the golden child of the US Army and he won't be punished. Is that what you were going to say?"

"No," Peggy continues pointedly. "I was going to say that isn't in my power or in yours. But I know some people who may be able to pull some strings. I cannot promise anything, though. Besides, McGinnis is far from the golden child of the US Army. That right is reserved for Captain America."

"That comic book character? You Americans make me sick," Fennhoff growls, spitting a large pile of saliva at the ground by Peggy's feet.

"Good thing I'm not an American," Peggy retorts sourly.

"Go to hell, the both of you," the Soviet soldier snarls, pointing a finger at Isabel and Peggy. "And Stark? When I get to hell myself, I'll save you the finest seat in the house. Unless I see you sooner."

Stark's jaw drops at that, and he stutters through his tears, but no retort comes out. He leans back heavily against the plane and curls his knees up into his chest, resting his head on his arms.

With that, the Russian soldier disappears into the darkness, kicking rocks aside as he does, leaving the three to stand alone in the field and watch him go.

"Where is he going?" Isabel asks, watching after the man with both sympathy and disgust.

"He'll find somewhere to go," Peggy reassures her. "He's a soldier. They always find their way home."

* * *

Peggy and Isabel wait a few hours outside the plane. They pace back and forth and watch as the sun starts to rise worryingly on the horizon, awaiting the arrival of the support plane they'd radioed in for to help clear the area. Howard, meanwhile, hauls himself up in the cockpit of the plane and closes the door, taking the time to himself.

"Poor Howard. It isn't his fault, but he'll feel the guilt of this for the rest of his life," Isabel eventually mutters into the silence, quietly so that the inventor can't hear.

"Yes, he will," Peggy agrees with a sigh. "I just hope McGinnis gets the justice he deserves. That may put his heart at ease. Howard may make weapons, but there's a reason why he doesn't use them. He isn't made for killing."

"No, he isn't. No one is, really. No one is born a killer. It's learned."

"I feel like you're speaking from experience on this one," Peggy notes, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

Isabel sighs. "Since they joined the war, Steve and Bucky have done some pretty brutal things and lived to tell the tale. Nothing so gruesome as what happened here, but still, they've killed. So have I – granted it was only one life, but a life is a life. When I became a nurse, I vowed to do no harm to anyone, to only protect and help people. And so far in this war, that is mainly what I've done. Even when I killed that man, it was in the name of protecting Morita. Bucky and Steve do the same thing, just a little differently."

"That's true," Peggy agrees. "Steve liberated over three-hundred men when he saved Bucky from the first Hydra factory."

"Yeah, but he killed a few men to get in there in the first place."

"Those men are Hydra," Peggy points out.

"I know, I'm not defending them," Isabel defends, raising her hands in surrender. "What I'm saying is that it shouldn't be Steve and Bucky killing them. No one should have to kill. But the world is cruel, and it makes good people do horrible, unspeakable things. Steve and Bucky were born to be protectors, not killers. I don't think they were destined to do this, if you believe in that sort of stuff. Bucky may think differently now that he's grown used to this life, he may feel like he can't be the person he used to be, and maybe he's right, maybe he can't. But I think he's also forgetting that he used to cry when he was a kid if he squashed an ant," Isabel laughs, but it's a sad laugh that threatens tears. "The war makes people into killers, makes them into robots. Those men that have been fighting out here for months, years, even just days… They've just been turned into killers. If this wasn't a war, they'd be punished for what they've done. But it's okay here, because it's all in a quest for "freedom"."

Isabel sighs loudly, taking a seat on the steps of the plane's entrance. She doesn't look sad, so much as disappointed and contemplative. Peggy takes a careful seat next to her.

"I guess my point is a lot of these soldiers didn't get given a choice whether they killed or not. A lot of them were drafted, like Bucky. And Steve, well he didn't want to kill anyone, but he wanted to stop the bullies, and if killing them is the only way to do that then he'll sacrifice himself to save everyone else – he's always been that way. Howard though; he may help people kill, but he doesn't kill anyone himself. It's an indirect act, enough for him to be able to say he wasn't really involved. This though, this feels different. He's seen what happens at the hands of his weapons, he's seen the effect of his work. It makes it all the more real."

"I see what you mean," Peggy says quietly, feeling her frustration at Stark's reaction melt away.

"Just because you give someone the gun, doesn't mean they have to pull the trigger," Isabel says finally.

With that, Isabel stands and walks away from Peggy around the other side of the plane, pacing up and back as they wait for the second planes to arrive to clear the area and return the fallen bodies to their families.

* * *

As soon as Isabel, Peggy and Howard land back at the London airfield, there's a car waiting for them on the curb. Peggy leads them to it and they all pile in, the three of them squashed into the backseat with Howard in the middle. Isabel spends the car ride looking out the window at their surroundings. The buildings on the street they drive down show signs of their recent attack from when the Hydra infiltration saw bystander cars swerve into the buildings. Isabel flinches and looks away. Hydra may not have gotten their hands on the Midnight Oil Project, but the US Army has managed to do just as much damage with their own hands.

The car stops outside the building that houses the underground bunker, and the driver comes around to open Isabel's door. She climbs out and makes to enter the building. She has images of getting up to her room, taking a scalding shower that will hopefully wash away the dirt and blood, then collapsing into bed to sleep long enough that the images in her mind no longer have any meaning.

"Wait, miss," the driver calls out, waiting as Howard and Peggy file out. "I've been ordered to escort you straight to the meeting room. Colonel Phillips is waiting for you."

"Fine," Isabel says curtly.

The driver walks the three into the elevator, pressing the down button. The elevator rumbles as it descends and deposits them in the underground bunker. They follow him silently through the corridors, the bunker bustling now that it's well into the afternoon. They're instructed not to speak to anyone and to not make eye contact. They feel as though they're fugitives, and maybe they are; they did take the plane into enemy territory without permission, after all.

The driver knocks at the closed door of the meeting room, opening it when a gruff voice gives him permission to enter. "Mister Stark, Agent Carter and Miss Barnes, sir, as you requested," the driver says, before stepping aside so that the three can step into the room.

Isabel's eyes widen when she sees that all of the Howling Commandos are sat at the tables, Colonel Phillips standing at the end awaiting their arrival. Phillips looks calm and quiet, but it feels as though he's about to burst, rumbling like a kettle coming to the boil. He turns an icy glare on them as they walk in and Isabel hurriedly looks down at her mud and blood covered boots.

There's three seats left for them, and Isabel hurries to the vacant seat between Steve and Bucky, most likely left purposely for her. Peggy sits opposite Steve, Howard at the furthest end of the table from the angry Colonel.

Isabel avoids Colonel Phillips eyes, knowing there will be trouble for their actions. She sneaks a glance at Steve and Bucky on either side of her, expecting them to be mad, but instead they look extremely worried. She breathes out a sigh of relief at that, one less reaction for her to worry about. Bucky smiles sadly at her and takes her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Carter! Stark! Barnes!" Phillips all but yells in an explosion of anger, making Isabel jolt. "Since when did you three have permission to take a US Army plane and head into enemy territory? What were you thinking?"

All three of them are silent. Isabel peeks up at Peggy, and Peggy's staring with steely eyes at the table in front of her. There's also a slight fear to her features, as though she expects this to be the end of her career; possibly it could be, though it would be a great waste. Howard has his head in his hands again, soft tears escaping him. Falsworth next to him puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Isabel takes a deep breath. "We weren't, sir," she says honestly.

"You bet your bloody lives you weren't," Colonel Phillips snaps, pointing a gnarly finger her way. "You could have been killed. You could have been exposed to the gas yourselves."

"But we weren't, sir. We're okay," Peggy finally argues, sparing Isabel anymore shame in her terrible attempt to salvage the situation and diffuse Phillips' temper. "Howard designed the gas. I'm sure he wouldn't have allowed us to enter the area if he had any thoughts that we could be affected."

"Carter, you allowed a combat medic and an inventor to go with you into enemy territory without permission, without back up, and without even any form of soldier in your entourage. You were alone. You were under-powered. Who knows what you could have encountered at the scene. This isn't the first time you've disregarded protocol. You of all people should know much better," Phillips snarls, slamming his hands down on the table for emphasis and making the three traumatized persons jump in their seats.

"Goddamnit! With all respect, sir, go easy on them. They've just witnessed something you probably could never imagine," Dugan snaps from the other end of the table, making everyone go quiet.

Isabel's eyes widen further, if that was even possible, thinking Dugan will be punished for his harsh speech to his superior officer. Surprisingly, Phillips' glare subsides and he nods his head, looking away momentarily.

"I heard there had been an incident involving the Midnight Oil Project, even though I hadn't authorized it," Howard says in a voice just above a whisper, but everyone hears and all heads snap to the end of the table. "I just needed to see, sir. I needed to see what I'd done to those men."

"I understand that, Stark," Phillips says, quieter and collected. He takes a moment to ponder his response. "I'm sure the ladies have already told you, but it isn't your fault. McGinnis _stole_ your blueprints from you under the guise of protecting them and used them without your permission and against his better judgement. He will face the consequences for his actions."

"Yes, sir," Howard replies, noticeably relieved by this information.

"What you all did was reckless and irresponsible," Phillips tells them. "But nonetheless, your encounter with the Russian Sergeant did reveal what happened to those men. Your statements are enough to see the General face disciplinary action. In that regard, it was worth it. Unfortunately, though, you all will have to live with the knowledge you've gained."

Phillips pushes off the table and paces around the table, coming to a stop behind Isabel. He puts a surprisingly comforting hand on her shoulder. "Everyone in the room has been briefed on the information I received over the radio from Agent Carter. They are all fully aware of the circumstances. If any of you need to talk about it, I expect that you discuss between each other. What you three saw out there and what you all learnt in this room – I trust that it will stay between yourselves…" Phillips is saying, but Isabel finds herself zoning out.

Her mind shows her flashes of the men's faces, slashed and gouged and bleeding. She squeezes her eyes shut and wills the images to leave her be, but it isn't enough. She puts her face in her hands and breathes deeply, praying that the tears don't come right now. They can wait until later. She just needs the images to stop, needs the memory of the smell to leave her mind. Seeing the bodies once had been enough.

Phillips looks at her worriedly, patting her shoulder gently. When he lets go, his hand is replaced by Steve's, and he pulls her toward him and into his side, rubbing her arm gently.

"You're all dismissed. And _don't_ pull a stunt like that again. I've got enough paperwork to do as it is."

Steve hurriedly stands and drags Isabel up with him. He looks at her face quickly, seeing that she isn't crying as he'd thought but she is thoroughly shaken, wide-eyed and shocked.

"Come on, Belle. Let's go to your room," he whispers in her ear, and she nods.

"Rogers," Phillips says quickly. Steve turns toward him, holding Isabel's hand in his own. "Look after her," he orders, his voice a strange mix of fatherly care and authority.

Steve nods. "Yes, sir," he says with a pained smile.

Steve tugs lightly on Isabel's hand and she follows, the Commandos all winding through the corridors and piling into the elevator. They ride it up to their respective floors in silence, one or two of them clambering out at a time and down to their rooms.

Steve, Isabel, Bucky and Peggy are the last in the elevator. Isabel leans heavily against Steve's arm, feeling the weight of everything she's seen and the tiredness of her little sleep hit her like a ton of bricks. Steve feels her slump and grabs her tightly, practically dragging her down the hallway to her room. He turns back to Bucky and they nod at one another. Steve takes Isabel into her room, and Bucky allows Peggy to sleep in his own bed, taking Steve's. They both know that their ladies are going to need to vent to their men about what they saw and most likely have a good cry, and it would be uncomfortable to do so with others in their presence.

Steve opens the door and Isabel stumbles in, landing face down on her bed. He closes the door and carefully approaches her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Belle?" He asks quietly, putting a hand between her shoulder blades. "You want to talk about it?"

Isabel shakes her head into her pillow. Eventually, she sits up slowly, looking at Steve. Her bottom lip trembles and her eyes water, and a second later she's crawling into Steve's lap like a child. Steve's cradles her to his chest and hushes her as she cries, rocking her back and forward comfortingly.

"You should've come and got me and the others, we should've come too," Steve tells her, but there's no harshness in his words like in Colonel Phillips'. "If we'd been there it may not have been so bad waiting all those hours."

"No, Stevie. You shouldn't have seen that. H-how long have you known we were gone?"

"I got the call about four this morning. The morning crew saw that the plane was unaccounted for and so were you three, they caught you leaving the facility on the cameras. We went down to the meeting room and I was just about to order another plane to take me to where the transponder said you were when Peggy's call came through the radio. She told us everything, then we waited the hours for you to return. It felt like an eternity, to be honest with you."

"I know."

"Tell me what happened?"

"They were all dead," Isabel sniffles. "H-hundreds of them. There was s-so many. They clawed and slashed each other to death. They were rabid. T-the man who was l-left, who survived. I-I thought he was gonna kill Howard, he was so angry. But Howard, he-he-he didn't want them to be k-killed," she says through her tears, barely audible.

"I know, honey. I know he didn't, it wasn't his fault."

"I-I t-told him that, but h-he didn't b-believe me," Isabel cries.

"It's going to take a long time for him to come to terms with what happened. It isn't your job to get him to see that, Belle. You just have to be a good friend like you always are and be there to support him, okay?"

"I-I will," Isabel promises, wiping her running nose with her hand.

Steve sighs, kissing Isabel carefully on the forehead. "You're tired, honey. You've been up for hours, you need to sleep."

"Okay," Isabel agrees, her eyes closing as she leans against Steve's shoulder.

Steve easily manoeuvres her around into the bed, resting her head on the pillow. He removes her muddy boots and tucks the blankets up to her chin. "Try not to think about it sweetheart. Leave it for tomorrow."

"Okay, Stevie," she mumbles.

Steve leans forward and kisses her forehead again before he turns to leave. Though, he doesn't exactly know where he'll sleep, considering Bucky and Peggy have occupied his room and he doesn't feel entirely comfortable sleeping in here alone with Isabel – not because he's worried about her and he knows nothing would happen, but more he's worried of what others would think, of their reputation. Sleeping beside each other in a tent in enemy territory or in a barn when the other Commandos are just over the other side of a stable door seems much different and more appropriate.

Steve's saved from having to sleep on the couch downstairs in Howard's lab when Isabel's hand shoots out to grab his wrist.

"Don't go, Steve, please. Don't leave me here alone," she pleads, starting to cry again.

All thoughts seem to go out the window at that. "Okay, I won't," Steve promises quickly, resorting to sleeping in Peggy's bed. He'll just wash the sheets for her tomorrow.

Steve takes his own shoes, jacket, shirt and tie off and pulls back the covers to Peggy's bed, but Isabel's hand insistently tugs him toward her own bed, weak but persistent.

"Belle, it isn't right," Steve protests, though he's well aware that they've shared a bed before back on the night of his mother's funeral.

"I don't care," she cries. "I-I can't–"

"Okay, okay," Steve gives in, unable to say no to her tears and pleading eyes.

He pulls her covers back and she slides over to the other side of the single bed as much as she can. Steve squashes in and pulls the covers back over them to keep the warmth in. The two of them are a little too squashed to sleep side by side thanks to Steve's larger frame. It's a far cry from the night in Brooklyn when they'd both easily fit on a single cot. Steve pulls Isabel partway onto his chest against his side, her body perfectly fitting into the curves of his own. He holds her tight, letting her cry and petting her hair, hushing her. She clutches him tightly like a lifeline.

Eventually her grip relaxes and the crying ceases, leaving a wet spot on Steve's bare chest. Steve continues to run his finger through her hair, hoping the action will remind her, even when she's in the land of her dreams, of where she is.

* * *

 **A/N:** Anyone who's seen _Marvel's_ _Agent Carter_ knows that the Midnight Oil project and its effects is a major plot point in the finale of season 1 and that Johann Fennhoff returns in the series as the villain. That story line will definitely be kept and will come up later, however, the gas has come up earlier in this story. I felt that they needed more villains and issues to face rather than just the Red Skull and Hydra and Midnight Oil was the perfect opportunity.


	41. Chapter 40

**40.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 17th, 1944**

After the events of the Midnight Oil release, Colonel Phillips quickly calls that every person within the SSR base, no matter if they are an agent or Captain America himself, must be subjected to some form of test or interrogation in an attempt to find whoever leaked the existence of Howard's blueprints. Peggy is tested first and cleared, sitting in one of the small isolation cells within the base as Colonel Phillips tests her, asking her questions regarding her knowledge of the project. She passes, of course, with flying colours, before testing the Colonel. With the both of them cleared, they're able to test everyone else in the facility.

Everyone is given a date and a time with a ten-minute window to be tested. The Commandos are tested first in order to quickly clear their names in case the press gets a whiff of the story and the damage that has unfolded. They're all scheduled within the hour, so the Commandos stand outside the temporary interrogation room, one of the laboratory testing rooms Howard rarely uses. It's one without a window or a speaker, so they can't see or hear what's going on inside and won't know what the questions will be. They know, though, that Peggy is currently questioning Howard about the incident since he entered the room less than five minutes ago.

"So, what kind of test do we have to do?" Morita asks for possibly the fifteenth time that morning.

"A polygraph test," Steve repeats, again for the fifteenth time, with the same amazing amount of patience he had the first time.

"A lie detector test," Isabel expands.

"Or in other words, the tests that never work," Dugan mutters.

"They work," Gabe insists.

"And if they don't, Agent Carter scares the person so terribly that they confess as they wet themselves," Monty adds helpfully.

The Commandos know enough about polygraph tests to know that they usually involve asking a number of questions along with several that are irrelevant to the matter under investigation but allow the interviewer to test whether the person is lying and their reaction to questions. Therefore, they're expecting some odd questions, unrelated to the topic. None of them are worried, though, because they know they're innocent.

Howard steps out of the room, looking a little upset, and Peggy walks up to the door with a clipboard of names in her hand.

"James?" She calls before walking back inside the room.

At once, Bucky, Monty, Dernier and Morita stand. They look at each other and laugh.

"Your name is Jacques, sit down," Morita berates Jacques, pushing the Frenchman to sit.

"Jacques is French for James," Gabe offers.

"That doesn't count!"

"You go by Bucky, clearly Peggy didn't mean you," Monty tells Bucky.

"Oh really, _Monty_? We're going there?" Bucky challenges.

"Clearly she meant me," Morita adds.

"Really, _Jim_?"

"So many James'," Isabel whispers to Steve, watching them all rally back and forth to each other.

"Barnes!" Peggy yells through the open door, her voice full of humour at their squabble.

Bucky walks over to the door and looks inside. "You know I hate being called James, Peg," he whines as he shuts the door behind himself.

Bucky emerges a few minutes later with a small smile on his face and a red lipstick stain on his cheek. Steve taps his own cheek to indicate it and Bucky wipes it off with the back of his hand, smearing it further.

"Isabel?" Peggy suddenly calls, looking up from the board and smiling at Isabel.

Isabel stands from her seat and walks past Peggy into the room, the door closing beind her. Peggy sits inside on one side of a small table, the polygraph box sitting on top of it. Isabel sits on the other side. Peggy runs through the reasoning for the test, what the test will entail, the questions she'll be asking, and then asks Isabel if she has any questions.

"No, none," Isabel says.

Peggy then proceeds to attach several monitors to Isabel that will measure several physiological indicators – blood pressure, pulse, respiration, and skin conductivity. There are four sheets on the lie detector and four needles to score the paper with the results.

"Even though you have an alibi as you were with me, I'm doing this by the book for everyone," Peggy explains. "We'll start with the card control test, which is used to show that lying on the test will provoke a reaction from the polygraph," Peggy explains, switching on the machine. The needles begin to move immediately in a zig zag along the paper. "You will tell a lie on the question I am about to ask you, answering only with yes or no." Peggy holds up a card with a cartoon picture of a black cat on it. "Is the animal on this card a cat?"

"No," Isabel says immediately.

The needles spike on the page, moving from their usual pattern as she lies. Isabel's eyebrows rise.

"It's important that you understand that the lie detector test will be able to pick up a lie. If you as the subject are telling the truth, you will be willing to co-operate, and the instrument will show that you are telling the truth. If you are lying, the machine will disclose the fact, and then you will be so informed and asked for an explanation," Peggy explains. "That's fair enough, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Now, I'll ask you a set of questions which you are to answer truthfully by yes or no." Isabel takes a second to prepare herself and then nods to Peggy to continue. "Have you ever been called "Belle"?" Peggy asks. It's a question Peggy knows the answer to, but for someone who may be a criminal, they may have several aliases they're keeping track of.

"Yes."

"Did you stay in London last night?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who created the Midnight Oil gas?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever smoke?"

"Yes."

Another known question. Isabel knows that these questions, which Peggy herself knows the answer to, are a demonstration that some subjects test the efficacy of the lie-detector by deliberately lying on irrelevant questions. If they are not called to task about such a lie, which may well be so if the answer of the irrelevant questions is not assuredly known, the examiner will encounter much greater difficulties in obtaining an admission based upon the examiner's accusation of lying regarding the crime itself.

"Do you know what the project is?" Peggy continues.

"Yes."

"Are you aware of the effect of the gas has on the human body?"

"Yes."

"Did you give or sell information regarding the project or its location to any member of the Axis powers, or to Hydra?"

"No."

"Have you ever been in contact with any member of Hydra except when on a mission?"

"No."

"Were you aware of the stealing of the blueprints by Hydra before the event transpired?"

"No."

"Were you aware that the US Army would take the blueprints and use them for their own uses?"

"No."

"Were you aware that the gas had been released before it was?"

"No."

"Have you lied on any of these questions?"

"No."

Peggy nods and sits back. She tears the strips of paper from the polygraph and reviews them for a while, the minutes passing slowly as Isabel sits and twiddles her thumbs, feeling nervous even though she knows she's okay. The needles never flicked rapidly again. She never lied. She was telling the entire truth.

"You're clean," Peggy says eventually, putting the papers together and filing them into one slot in a large filing case beside her, Isabel's name written on the tab. "Like I expected any differently. You're free to go."

"Thank God, you're terrifying," Isabel laughs.

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **March 24th, 1944**

No one is caught on the lie detector tests. Peggy and Phillips test every person within the SSR base and the hotel above, everyone who may have access to the facilities, and everyone checks out. They check all of the security cameras within the base, searching every face, attempting to find a glimpse of whoever may have entered Howard's laboratories and seen the blueprints long enough to work out what they were and know to contact Hydra about them. They see no one new in the days leading up to the event. No one really enters the laboratories except Howard and the Commandos, the SSR agents steering clear.

At a loss, everyone seems to move on from the event, deeming that the case will always be open. There's not much else they can do, other than test everyone and attempt to see the perpetrator on the security cameras.

The time following the incident passes quickly. Isabel busies herself with her nursing and deciphering of the serum in order to forget. Peggy buries herself in her own work for the SSR, working day and night to uncover intel that can lead the US Army or the Howling Commandos toward defeating Hydra.

Howard locks himself up in the laboratories for days at a time, not even stopping to eat and sleep. It isn't so different to normal, except he works extremely hard on rectifying his mistake by making something, anything, that could help the Allies. No matter how much Isabel or Peggy or anyone tries to talk to Stark about what happened, he brushes them off with some degree of flirty charm and tells them he's fine. Isabel and Peggy talk and cry it out and after a few days, what they've seen becomes more bearable. Stark, though, he bottles it up, and they know that one day he's just going to crumple.

One morning, Isabel walks down to the laboratories intent on talking to Howard and getting him out of his slump. Steve goes with her because Isabel hopes that Steve's opinion might be of more value to Howard since he's on the outer and didn't see the destruction of the gas with his own eyes like Peggy and Isabel did. But when Steve and Isabel walk into the laboratory, hand in hand, Howard is nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe he actually went up to his room to sleep?" Isabel suggests.

She walks through the laboratory, checking any of the small alcoves. At the far end she rounds the corner wall to the secluded corner of the laboratory where a large wardrobe, couch and a desk sit. The area is Howard's retreat where he usually sleeps and keeps a few changes of clothes in case of any laboratory accidents, or if he just can't be bothered leaving the room. The couch is empty and so is the desk, everything cleared from the top of the desk and stuffed into the drawers and locked, a few papers sticking out slightly.

Back near the entrance where Steve stands, his eyebrows rise in disbelief. "I don't think he's done that since we've known him," he notes, taking a seat on the edge of one of the desks and watching Isabel look around the small laboratory, deeming it empty.

"Well," Isabel says, her tone slightly suggestive, and it makes Steve's eyebrows rise. "We've got the whole lab to ourselves," she tells Steve. Isabel walks toward Steve and stands in front of his knees, hands on his shoulders.

"W-we do?"

"Mmhmm," Isabel murmurs, leaning close and kissing Steve right on the jaw, working her way toward his lips. "What should we do with that alone time? It doesn't happen all that often."

Steve gulps. "I, uhm, I dunno–"

"You're so cute when you're nervous," Isabel giggles.

Isabel collects Steve's lips with her own, her hand coming up to tussle the back of his blonde hair. It's silent for a moment, their lips working in synchrony. Steve's hand comes up to grasp the back of her waist, pulling her closer to him, his other hand cupping her cheek. Isabel pushes on Steve's knee gently and he moves it just enough that she can slot between his legs, making Steve's eyes widen slightly. She holds back her laugh, instead kissing him harder. Steve responds back enthusiastically, ignoring the blush of his cheeks. He just hopes that no one can see them through the windows to the laboratory, where lots of people walk past–

A small thunk of a closing door gets Steve's attention, coming from further inside the lab, toward the back alcove. Steve pulls away and looks over Isabel's shoulder into the rest of the laboratory, which had been empty, but the noise says otherwise. He listens intently, frowning toward the part of the laboratory where the wall blocks their view of the wardrobe, couch and desk. Isabel waits, cocking her head in confusion at him. Steve hears it again, a noise – a soft thud, the shuffle of paper, the sound of footsteps, a murmur of German.

He puts a finger to his lips to mime for Isabel to be quiet and she nods, stepping out of his embrace with silent footsteps. Steve carefully stands from the desk, careful not to make any noise, and makes his way toward the corner, holding an arm out to keep Isabel behind him. She stays where she was by the desk, watching with a frown as Steve inches closer to the person who's apparently at the desk.

Steve rounds the corner and the man hasn't noticed him. The doors to the wardrobe are open where they were once closed, and the man clearly had hidden in there when Isabel came into the room. The man is dressed in the janitor's outfit, a bucket of his cleaning materials sitting on the desk. He's leaning over the desk, the drawers jimmied open, and he's rifling through the drawers of Howard's notes, muttering to himself. He picks out a few pages and scrunches them up, sticking them into his back pocket of his pants.

Steve watches a few seconds before taking a step, loud and deliberate. The man pauses and then whirls around, eyes wide when he sees the Captain behind him. Steve rushes him and grabs him by the collar, holding him against the desk.

"What do you think you're doing?" Steve asks, his voice a growl. The man glares up at Steve, keeping his lips sealed with a determined frown.

Isabel rushes around the corner once she's sure Steve's contained him, glaring at the man. He twitches in Steve's tight grip pressed up against the hard wood of the desk. "Who is he?" Isabel asks.

"The janitor. I've seen him around for months. But you aren't really a janitor, are you?" Steve asks the man. "Sifting through Howard Stark's work. You leaked the blueprints, didn't you? You work for Hydra? It's a great disguise. They must have you on a pretty special wage to get you to infiltrate a SSR base for this amount of time."

The man offers no answer, staring defiantly at Steve. His jaw clicks as he clenches his teeth, apparently attempting to dislodge a cyanide capsule replacing one of his teeth.

"No, you don't!" Steve yells, wrenching the man's mouth open forcefully and grabbing the small tooth-shaped capsule that's sitting on his tongue, pulling it from his mouth before the man can crunch it and release the cyanide inside. "Damn Hydra and their cyanide pills," Steve grumbles, handing the capsule to Isabel who wraps it in a tissue.

"We gonna take him to Phillips?" Isabel asks Steve.

"Yeah. You got somethin' comin' for you," Steve tells the man. "I'm sure Agent Carter will have no qualms getting the information out of you." The man's face falls at the mention of Agent Carter. Apparently, Peggy's managed to make a name for herself, even within Hydra.

Steve grabs the man roughly and holds his hands behind his back as though he were arrested, leading him through the halls toward Phillips' office, Isabel behind him. Steve opens the door to the office without knocking and bursts inside, where Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter are currently in a meeting, discussing the movement of the Howling Commandos. They jump when the door opens, Colonel Phillips hurriedly stuffing the files back into the draw to keep them classified. He turns a harrowing glare on Steve and Isabel, who sneaks in behind him, while Peggy eyes the janitor carefully.

"Rogers! Barnes! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Phillips yells, standing up from his desk chair.

"We found this man going through the locked-up papers in Howard Stark's desk drawers, speaking to himself in German and pocketing papers. When I confronted him, he tried to take a cyanide pill. Not exactly something an innocent janitor would do," Steve tells them.

Peggy stands, too, eyeing the man carefully.

"He's Hydra, Colonel Phillips," Isabel says. "He has to be. He must have leaked the blueprints whereabouts."

"Posing as the janitor, how original," Peggy sneers. "I can't believe I missed it."

"We all make mistakes, Agent Carter," Phillips reassures.

Steve pushes the man into Peggy's empty chair, standing right beside him and overbearing to intimidate him. Isabel moves around to stand at the side of Phillips' desk, Peggy beside her, the Brit's arms folded over her chest and her face morphed into an unimpressed frown.

"He was interrogated by you on the polygraph test. How did he go unnoticed?" Steve asks Peggy and the Colonel.

"People are poor at detecting if someone is lying," Phillips says. "Human history is riddled with people coming up with techniques and instruments to try to make up for this accuracy in judgement. Seems the truth of the polygraph is about as accurate as people, a poor marker for judgement."

"Dugan said you could beat the polygraph test, but I didn't really think it was possible…?" Isabel asks quietly.

All four eyes flick to the man expectantly. His mouth is a thin line, and he looks as though he'll give nothing away.

"Leave him with me a while," Peggy says, grabbing him up and hauling him toward the door. "I'll get him to come clean."

* * *

Peggy comes back half-an-hour later with a bit of blood under her fingernails, but a triumphant smirk on her features. She takes a seat in the chair Steve vacates for her beside Isabel, Steve moving to lean against one of the table against the wall. Phillips sits back in his chair, looking at the Agent expectantly.

"Well, Carter, did you get him to talk?"

"Would I have come back if I hadn't?" Peggy asks, raised eyebrow. She shifts and gets more comfortable. "He says that at Hydra, they've been deconditioned against the physiological changes the polygraph measures when a person lies." Steve and Isabel look a little bit confused, not knowing everything about the way the test works, so Peggy explains. "Lying makes your heart race. Makes you pant. It drives up your blood pressure and makes you drip sweat. The polygrapher scores the test by comparing these physiological to the control questions with reactions to relevant questions. If the former reactions are greater, the examinee passes. If the latter are greater, he fails. An examinee's lie only counts as a lie if it registers as _more_ of a lie than his or her control lie."

"Okay," Isabel says slowly. "So, they change their heart rate, respiratory rate, blood pressure and sweat level whilst answering the control questions so that when they lie on the relevant questions, it won't be picked up. The polygrapher will just believe they have a naturally high heart rate, that they're really nervous?"

"Exactly," Peggy says. "They send their control lies off the charts. By comparison, their answers to the relevant questions, whether they are truths or falsehoods, will seem true."

"How do they do that, though?" Steve asks.

"One way that we know of is to press down on a thumb tack or sharp object in the shoe, so we made the interviewees remove their shoes. The pain from doing this will cause most of your vitals to spike, and your response will probably be read as a lie. They can also think exciting or scary thoughts when they recognize a control question, or do a difficult math problem in their head, or bite down on their tongue. By contrast, when answering relevant questions, they stay calm. They maintain their baseline breathing pattern. They keep their mind at ease knowing that neither they nor the polygrapher are in control. Even if they produce a slight response when asked the accusatory relevant questions, they will have artificially produced stronger responses while answering the control questions."

"You got all of that out of him?" Isabel asks, astounded.

"Of course, and more. He told me all about how he contacted Hydra to inform them about Midnight Oil. He'd originally been searching for the serum notes and he also found Midnight Oil. He sent the intel to a Hydra base in Greece, and he gave me a rough estimate of the co-ordinates. We can send a team in to investigate if we chose to pursue the lead." At Isabel's still astonished expression, Peggy smirks. "It's amazing, Isabel, what a traditional interrogation can do. Fists and all."


	42. Chapter 41

**41.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **April 17th, 1944**

Late one morning, Isabel goes downstairs to report for her day's duties. She walks into Howard's lab and finds the young inventor sitting stock-still at his desk, leaning over a piece of drawing paper. She quietly peeks over his shoulder, just managing to glimpse what he's doing. The page is empty, a blank sheet of paper. Howard's holding a pencil in his hand, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white, but he doesn't write anything down. Instead, he dots the page with wet tears, dripping silently down his face.

"Howard?" Isabel whispers from right behind him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The scientist jumps at the noise, looking up at her with wet eyes. He quickly wipes away the tears, sniffing loudly and blinking rapidly. "Isabel, I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry," she apologises, looking down at Howard with worried eyes. Howard avoids her eyes, looking back down at the blank page. "What are you doing?"

"I was… I was trying to invent something," Howard says vaguely.

"What?"

"I dunno, just anything to help."

"Well, what kind of help? Maybe I can be of assistance?" Isabel offers, taking a seat in the chair beside him.

Howard sighs. "I just want to fix what happened. To make up for what I did."

"You didn't do–"

"Please, stop saying that," Howard pleads, raising a hand to stop Isabel's argument. "You've told me many times, and no matter how many times people say it, I'll never believe it. I may not have released the gas but I feel responsible. I want to do something to make up for that, but nothing is coming to mind. The only things I can invent are things that kill," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair.

"Howard, the things you invent don't just kill. They save people. They're a lifeline. They save the good guys. Bucky, Steve, the Commandos – they'd all be dead out in the battlefield by now had you not invented those weapons and shields for them. They'd never be able to invade the Hydra factories without Steve's shield or their advanced guns and grenades. You've saved them all more times than you know."

"At the expense of all those other men they kill."

"They kill the enemy, Howard. They kill men who are pure evil. They're ridding the world of a force that would leave it in ruins." Isabel grows serious, narrowing her eyes a little at Howard. "It's a war, Howie. People die in the name of a greater theory – for freedom and their country, or for money, or for a blue-eyed utopia. Those men out there know what they're getting into, and whether they chose to be here or not, they've accepted their possible fate. People die in a war just like they die at home. It's a normal part of life, only war means some people meet their ends just a little bit earlier." Isabel takes his hand in hers and jiggles it lightly to get his attention, looking at him with her blue doe-eyes. "You may give them the guns, but you aren't the one pulling the trigger. You can give a man a weapon, but it doesn't mean he has to use it. Nothing that happened was your fault. You can't let that lie on your shoulders."

Howard nods eventually, seemingly accepting what Isabel is saying. "I shouldn't have made the gas. None of this would have happened."

"Maybe not," Isabel agrees with a shrug. "But you also didn't intend the gas to do what it did. You had no idea that would be the end result, and that faint idea you had from the experiment you did on yourself saw you abandon it entirely. You didn't force that undercover agent to see them and report back to Hydra. You weren't part of the Hydra agents who attempted to steal it. And the actions of General McGinnis aren't your own. You don't answer for that man, nor do you answer for the entire Army."

Howard sighs, eventually managing to smile at his friend. "You're right."

"Course I am, it's happening much more regularly. Must be what happens when you surround yourself with people of higher intellect," Isabel jokes. She smiles at Howard for a moment, albeit a little sad, before pulling him toward her. "Come here, gimme a hug." Howard hugs Isabel tightly, letting her rub his back comfortingly. She pulls away after a moment, not saying anything about the wet spot on her shoulder. "You're a good man, Howard. You care and you grieve and it makes you human. I know it was terrible, but life's really too short to dwell and wallow."

"You're right, life is short, Isabel. Life is precious, Isabel. It can be taken away with a snap of a finger, with a drop of a bomb. It only takes a second and it's gone."

"I know, Howard."

"You and I, everyone else in this goddamn war, we've seen it first-hand. We've seen with our own eyes how fast a life can be ended. Some of us have even done it ourselves."

Isabel thinks back to the first and only man she's killed, the soldier who'd advanced on her when she was treating Morita. The shot to his throat, the blood that spewed out of him. She flinches, screwing her eyes shut to keep the memories away.

"My point is, none of us know how much longer we've got left. Whether we're in a war or we're home, just like you said. Seeing what happened, it really opened my eyes; made me realise the things I appreciate in my life, the things I should acknowledge. If you like to do something, do it. I like to invent, and so that's what I'm going to do. Most importantly, if you love someone, you should tell them."

Isabel looks at Howard for a moment, wondering if his comment has something to do with the fact her and Steve actually haven't said the "L" word to each other yet, and he knows it. Howard looks at her a little pointedly, confirming her assumptions.

"Tell him, Isabel. Tell him how you feel, and don't hold back."

"What if he doesn't feel the same?" Isabel asks quietly.

"What if he doesn't love you back? Geez, Is, have you opened your eyes?"

"Oh, hush," Isabel berates him, hitting his shoulder. "You just… you don't understand," she finally says, looking away. The things she wants to say to Steve, he would laugh at her for saying them. Anyone would. They're embarrassing and intense and she thinks she may even be going crazy, she loves that blonde so much.

"I'm not the one who has to understand," Howard points out.

"How did this conversation go from being about you to being about me? I came in here to give you the lecture," Isabel laughs.

"Well you did, and it worked. Now it's my turn to help you," Howard insists. "Go talk to Steve and I'm going to get back to what I do best – inventing. Might make a new type of explosive device for Dernier, maybe one he can shoot out of a firearm like Peggy's favourite gun…"

With that, Howard turns away from Isabel, starting to draw a design for that exact idea on the blank page. He gets himself into a work-rut, concentrating solely on that, and Isabel knows their conversations are most likely finished until he himself has completed the design. She sighs, resigning herself to making her own way around the laboratory and working on the serum decoding. She spends the entire day at the desk Howard cleared for her months ago, writing and reading and attempting to think about what she's doing, but finding her mind always wandering off to her conversation with Howard.

She really doesn't know if she's ready to confess anything to Steve, yet. It feels like an awfully big step. All their little metaphors about dancing and the right partner have hinted at how they've felt about each other, but they've never said it aloud. It doesn't sound like much to others – Isabel generally has no trouble telling people she loves them, telling people how she feels. She's even told Steve before that she loved him, but it had never meant the same thing, then. She's just so worried still, deep down, that Steve will reject her. Even though she's known him for so long, knows he'd never upset her like that, she can't help it. And she couldn't stand it if Steve left her now.

There's also the issue of Danny, someone she hasn't consciously thought about in months, though he's always been there in some way. There's what he'd said to her the night of the dance before they'd broken up when he'd asked her to marry him, and then the opposing story she'd told Steve and Bucky the next day. It's been playing at her a long while now, almost years, the guilt that she'd lied to spare everyone's feelings and possibly to shield herself.

Perhaps Howard's right. Maybe it's time she gets it all out there, time she tells Steve the truth. She should tell him how she feels, and what really happened with Danny, and be honest with him…

She can't set her mind to it, can't commit, so decides instead to talk first to the person who knows both her and Steve better than anyone. Perhaps if she can get some reassurance, if he can tell her that she isn't silly, she'll feel more confident talking to Steve.

Isabel looks at the clock on the wall, seeing that it's just passed seven in the evening and Isabel's managed to waste almost an entire day staring at the wall. Even if Steve is in the room for the night, maybe she can think of a way to get Bucky alone, go for a walk of something. Isabel nods to herself and walks to the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor.

* * *

Bucky sits in his room, the mattress soft underneath him, staring at the wall in front of him. He doesn't know how long he's been staring, as still as a statue, hardly moving except for the faint movement of his chest as he takes steady breathes. If anyone saw him, they'd probably think he was insane, but it seems to be something he does after his time as a human experiment. It's also good practice for being a sniper, where he has to stay incredibly still for hours at a time, staring through the lens of his rifle.

He jumps when there's a knock at the door. He's not expecting visitors at this later hour but assumes it may be Steve returning early from a day of planning and meetings with Army officials.

Bucky throws the door open. "I was beginning to think they kidnapped you– Oh, Isabel?" Bucky cuts off, finding Isabel standing on the other side of the door, rather than Steve.

"Don't look too disappointed," she says. He steps to the side and she walks past, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "Have you got time to talk?"

"I've always got time for my favourite girl," he tells her sincerely, sitting next to her.

"Second favourite, now," she laughs. "Don't want to make Peggy jealous."

"She ain't the jealous type," Bucky tells her. He takes a second to look at her, noting her expression is dismal, confused doubtful, and a whole lot of emotions Bucky rarely sees from his sister. "Are you okay, doll?" He asks, kneeling down in front of her to try to look into her eyes.

Isabel sighs, eventually lifting her winsome eyes to Bucky's with a sort of look that would turn off any bad temper, even when they had all the right in the world to indulge in it. "Steve's definitely not here, is he?" She asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, he's got a meeting until eight," Bucky replies. They look at the clock on the nightstand, the hands indicating there's forty minutes before Steve's schedule is cleared.

Isabel nods. "Will you keep a secret for me?" She pursues, grabbing Bucky's hand tightly.

"Depends, is it worth keeping?" Bucky asks, a hint of humour in his tone.

"Yes," Isabel says, slightly sulky that Bucky isn't taking her predicament seriously. "I'm worried and confused and I have to tell someone. I've been keeping this a secret for months."

"Okay," Bucky says, a little more worried now. "Is it to do with Steve?" He guesses, a bit of worry filling his tone as his mind wanders off to all the possibilities, mainly of them not wanting to be together anymore; a ridiculous thought, considering Bucky sees them together every day and neither have ever been happier or looked more dopily lovesick.

"Yes and no," Isabel replies. "It's kind of also to do with Danny."

"That guy you dated after mom set you up last year? The one who broke Steve's nose?" Bucky asks, disbelievingly. He can't believe Isabel is giving him the time of day now that she's with Steve.

"I told you both that we broke up because he couldn't promise to be loyal to me while he was gone, but… That was a lie. I know it isn't really relevant now, that I shouldn't be thinking about it, but I have to get it off my chest."

"Well, what really happened then?" Bucky asks, his curiosity peaked.

"He said that before he left, he wanted to make sure he was mine and I was his. That night at the dance, he asked me to marry him; before he went to war so that he had an incentive to come home again. H-he had a ring, and everything picked out, wanted to do it that weekend. He also wanted to make sure I'd be tied to him because he knew that I was sweet on Steve, even if I didn't acknowledge it myself. I think he was worried that as soon as he was out of the picture I'd move on."

Bucky's jaw drops in shock. That was certainly not the answer he was expecting.

"And I gave him an answer. Obviously, I said no. It was true what I said, about how I couldn't trust him while he was overseas to be faithful. But I also told him I didn't want that, that it wasn't the life I imagined for myself. It took that moment for me to realise that I didn't want to be rich and some socialite, married to him. I couldn't promise myself to him because it – he wasn't what I even wanted… He wasn't _who_ I wanted."

Bucky suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, as this is something he could have told her long before that night.

"But I want you to tell me whether you think I was wrong, tell me which it should have been," she tells Bucky, her words flying out of her mouth like she's ripping off a band aid. Her eyes are pleading for her brother to offer his advice.

"Isabel," Bucky begins, sitting back on his heels of his feet. "Of course, it was the right thing. You and Steve are practically made for each other." He thinks again of Steve and thanks the Lord he isn't here. It would break Steve's heart to know that Isabel was asked to marry by someone else.

"That's what I thought," Isabel says, more to herself than to Bucky.

"So, you aren't having doubts?" Bucky presses, feeling relieved.

"No, definitely not. Steve makes me incredible happy. I feel like I won the lottery and I would've felt exactly the same had we ended up together before the war. It just took the war for us to see it clearly. I think I'm just coming to terms with everything. War does that to you, I guess. Seeing all this death, it makes you want to count your virtues."

"Why did you say no to Danny?" Bucky asks curiously.

"It's complicated, I guess," Isabel says with a loud sigh. "I didn't love him. Especially now that I'm with Steve, I know that I just never got that feeling. You know, the one in your gut that makes you feel so excited and happy but also a little sick at the same time. The butterflies and all that..." She hesitates, biting her bottom lip in thought. "But I feel like I should have had that with Danny."

Bucky frowns. "Why should you have?"

"Well, it would have made mother and father happy for me to marry him. It was what they wanted, especially Mama," Isabel mumbles.

"Don't think of our parents. Don't think of anyone but yourself. Why should you have married him?"

"Well, if we aren't thinking about the social or economic value… then, I shouldn't have." She pauses, thinking. " I see it now, so clearly – Danny and I were as different as frost from fire. He loved me, he told me, but Danny and I wanted very different lives, and we already lived very different lives. He spent time with his friends, I worked to make a living. He was rich, I was pretty poor. He didn't agree with the life I lived, looked down on me for it, which is never a good foundation for a relationship. But he also promised he would get me out. He told me I could have had any life I wanted with him. I tried to fool myself into thinking I wanted that, but you can't change yourself like that. The relationship was all about what everyone else wanted, and about what each of us could get out of it. It felt like a business deal rather than a relationship," Isabel answers, her voice shaking slightly as though she might cry.

"Would you have loved him for what he could have given you?" Bucky asks quietly.

"I think your average woman could have learned to love someone for that, but not me. The idea of a future with him wasn't just scary and unrealistic, but I couldn't even picture it. I didn't want the money or the status, I wanted emotional wealth. And that's exactly the thing I told Mama, and she told me it was a fairy tale. Well, it isn't. I can tell you that now. If you find the right person, you get all the emotional wealth you could dream of."

"Why not you? What was the obstacle?"

Isabel looks at him as if the answer should be obvious, and it is. "Here, and here," Isabel tells him anyway, pointing one hand to her forehead, and another on her chest over her heart. "Where my soul is. In my heart and soul, I knew I was right to say no."

The obstacle was Steve. She couldn't marry Danny or promise herself to him because she loved Steve. Even before she was consciously aware of it, it was buried deep within her. Despite his empty bank account and rather sickly appearance, she loved him for him. She could see him. And now, even when he's Captain America, she doesn't love him for his appearance or for his work, she loves him for what's on the inside.

"While Danny and I were going together, I had these really strange dreams. Sometimes that happens, and the dreams, I can't get them out of my head. It feels like they change the colours of my mind," she tells him, her eyes widening as though she's experiencing something life changing.

"That's poetic," Bucky mumbles, actually impressed by his sister's eloquent speech. He knows that Isabel is superstitious. She believes in psychics and that dreams have underlying meanings. But the gloom in her aspect makes Bucky himself superstitious, dreading that her dream may have shaped a prophecy or a foreseeable catastrophe or something.

"This dream was not long before Danny asked me to marry him. I dreamt that we were older, and he came back from the war and we'd gotten hitched. If you love someone, that should be like Heaven. But being with Danny was _not_ my Heaven. I wasn't happy. I didn't belong there. I broke my heart crying because I hated it so much, and Danny was so angry at me that he flung me out of Heaven straight into our apartment in Brooklyn. When I woke up, I was sobbing with joy because that was where Steve was." Isabel pauses again. "That was what my subconscious was telling me, I guess. But I thought Steve would never marry me; I thought that wasn't what he wanted, since he always spoke about finding the right person. I never imagined he was actually hinting that he meant me. I also thought that it wasn't what my parents would want, or what I _should_ want… If life hadn't brought Steve so low, if he hadn't been so downtrodden and poorly, I probably never would have thought of it." Bucky opens his mouth to dispute that, but Isabel raises a hand and cuts him off. "I know that makes me a horrible person, you don't need to tell me otherwise."

"You listen to what everyone else wants too much, doll. You always have, always making sure everyone else is happy before yourself."

"Like you're much better," Isabel laughs. But it quickly falls away, replaced again with a sour frown. "I never told Steve how I love him, not even back then. And I still haven't because a part of me is still scared he'll reject me, realise what I did to him in neglecting him all those years and let me go… But Danny was right, I did have my heart set on someone else, even if I didn't know it. I think it's always been that way. I love and always have loved Steve because… because Steve's more myself than I am. We're made of the same stuff." Isabel shrugs, looking away from her brother to her clasped hands in her lap.

Bucky stares at Isabel, open mouthed, unable to comprehend where all of this is coming from. He'd had an inkling that his sister had always been sweet on Steve, maybe even that she loved him, but he had no idea for how long she'd loved him or to what extent.

"You think you and Steve are soulmates?" Bucky says slowly, looking speculatively at his sister as her countenance grows sadder and graver and her hands begin to tremble. Isabel nods, her eyes averting from Bucky's and her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "Don't be embarrassed, Isabel."

"Well, I think I'm being silly," she argues. "These aren't the type of things you say about someone you've only officially been going steady with for only a few months."

"But you loved him before that, even if you didn't acknowledge it. It was so obvious; I saw it, Ma saw it… Even Dad saw it, and you know how he barely registers anything that goes on in the house," Bucky laughs. "You aren't being silly. You love him."

"Well yes, I think Steve and I are soulmates. I think we were meant to be. I think God or whatever is out there made you find Steve in that alleyway when you were ten and then put us on the Earth at the same time within the same two block radius so that we'd end up together." Isabel pauses for a moment and stares at Bucky, but Bucky feels like she's going to say more so he doesn't interrupt. "It must be weird for you to hear me say this."

"No, actually, it isn't," Bucky reassures, and it's true, he's just got this warm fuzzy feeling inside him. "It's comforting to know that you and Steve are crazy about each other and that it's going to be a fulfilling relationship. I only want the best for both of you, and as far as I'm concerned, you two are the best for each other. Besides, you know that you can tell me anything. Lord knows I've told you my fair share of weird things," Bucky laughs.

"Good," Isabel mutters. The two are silent for a moment, before Isabel shifts on the bed. "I can't even express it, Bucky. I can't even find the words. But I can't think of any other way to describe it. There has to be an existence beyond ourselves; a soulmate, if you like. What would the use of love be if there weren't someone out there for you?"

"I agree," Bucky says with raised eyebrows. "I think you're finding the words, sis."

"Isn't it just funny that I have this revelation here, fighting in a war? Couldn't I have figured out I love him back in Brooklyn, before all of this? We could have been happy so much longer. Instead, he's got to act as my light in the darkness…" Isabel trails off then, her eyes widening as she seems to remember that quote from somewhere.

"That's what that soothsayer said to you," Bucky remembers, snapping his fingers in thought. "She said that you'd find love in the darkness even though they already trailed you around, and for you to hang onto them. She was talking about Steve."

"Well she was right, just like almost everything else she said," Isabel laughs.

Bucky and Isabel are silent for a while, and Isabel's mention of the war clings to Bucky's mind. Every day is unpredictable. Their work is dangerous. They get injured, they get shaken up, they could die. If Isabel feels so deeply for Steve… well, it could end badly. Steve is a literal target, probably the most wanted man to the Axis and Hydra powers. Bucky gets a sick feeling to his stomach when he thinks of Steve never coming home to her.

"Could you live without Steve?" Bucky asks suddenly, his voice quiet.

Isabel thinks about it a long while, her face falling slowly. "I don't really want to think about that," she admits, a knowing expression on her face.

"Please, Belle. Answer the question."

Isabel sighs deeply. "If everything else was gone, and only Steve remained, I would still be okay. But if he was gone, the world would be so foreign and unnerving. It would be like I was trecking through the abandoned woods alone for the rest of my life and I never found a way out."

Something lights a fire inside Bucky, and the flame of his protective nature that never extinguishes burns brighter and hotter than ever. He knows the risks and he is well aware the possibilities, but right then and there, Bucky makes a silent promise to himself and to Isabel that he'll always make sure that Steve gets home. He could never lose his sister like that. As long as it is in his power, he'll do everything he can.

"You're in love," Bucky tells her with a soppy smile. "The best kind of love, the type people write novels and plays and songs about."

"I am, aren't I?" Isabel laughs, hiding her glowing cheeks behind her hands, and she looks almost giddy. Bucky doesn't think he's ever seen her do that.

"Have you told Steve any of this?"

"No!" She cries, losing that giddiness immediately. "Please, keep the secret. I don't want him to know that I'm whacky. What if he doesn't feel the same?"

"Isabel…" Bucky sighs, his lips curling up into a smile. "I don't think you have a worry in the world. That boy is so in love with you, I think his heart's going to burst every time he looks at you. The end of the world couldn't drive him away from you. Even in death, I think he'd find some way to haunt you. You need to tell him."

"I'll wait for the right time," Isabel decides, running a hand through her hair.

"Don't wait too long, doll," Bucky warns her. "And maybe don't tell him that Danny asked you to marry him. It would break Steve's heart to know he nearly missed out."

"Sorry for being so dramatic," Isabel says, wrapping her arms around to hug Bucky, pulling him close. "But thank you for listening."

"Your dramatic, Steve's dramatic. Makes sense that you'd fuel each other. It's like a damn Shakespeare play in this joint," Bucky laughs. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one with my head screwed on properly."


	43. Chapter 42

**42.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **April 29th, 1944**

Two days after Bucky and Isabel's conversation, Isabel still hasn't admitted anything to Steve, making Bucky actually twitch. Physically. He looks at them together and his eye twitches. He swears those two are going to give him a brain aneurysm. Their affection is obvious, hanging heavily in the air around them all, but neither of them addresses it. Instead, Bucky watches them dance around each other like lovesick puppies without ever using the 'L' word, and it makes he and the other Commandos roll their eyes at the pair. Still, Bucky doesn't push them; it will happen in time. Neither of them is exactly known for being in a hurry.

As afternoon shifts into evening and darkness threatens to fall, the Commandos pack their things and group together on the tarmac, ready to depart for another mission. They're finally acting on the intel provided to them by the impostor janitor who worked for Hydra, who had informed them about a large Hydra facility in Greece. It had been another few weeks of researching and gathering as much intel as possible before they could embark to ensure the Commandos weren't walking into the unknown or into a trap.

The men stand around waiting as Morita retrieves their medical kits, and Isabel and Steve listen to one final debrief from Peggy, who shows Isabel a map of the factory and a spot marked for where she needs to wait as the emergency medic. Isabel nods along, repeating the plan back to the Agent whilst Steve watches her, wary, affection and proud, his blue eyes soft like an loving puppy.

"The Captain's in love," Dugan laughs, watching the exchange. "You can see it in his baby blues."

"I know," Bucky sighs. "And they're still both too stubborn to say it aloud."

"They don't have to say it aloud for them to know it's true, Serge," Falsworth says, fixing the maroon beret atop his head. "Actions speak louder than words."

"Yeah, alright Casanova, I know that too," Bucky nods, watching Steve and Isabel walk back hand-in-hand over to the group with Agent Carter behind them. "But not louder than the words Isabel told me," Bucky mutters to himself.

"Serge, listen to Monty here. He's one of the only one's of us who's managed to get himself a dame apart from Dernier, but Frenchy can't give anyone advice without Jones butcherin' the translation," Dugan tells Bucky, patting him on the back.

"I don't need relationship advice," Bucky argues. "Direct it at Steve, if you must share your wisdom."

"I have been, don't worry," Monty reassures.

"Lieutenant Falsworth has been mentoring our young Captain on the ways of women and romance," Dugan laughs.

"I've been trying for years. If you have any luck, let me know," Bucky mutters.

The men zip it as the two women and Steve approach. Steve glares at Bucky and Dugan, and Bucky remembers too late that Steve has super-soldier hearing and likely heard their entire conversation. Bucky gives him a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders in a _what are you goin' to do about it?_ sort of way.

Peggy slips into the side of Bucky and kisses his cheek goodbye. "I'm sorry I couldn't come along again, fellas," Peggy apologises to them all. "Duty calls here at base."

"No problem, Agent Carter," Dugan says. "We'll bring your man back in one piece."

The Commandos drive out to the tarmac and load into the plane that will fly them down to Greece where the Hydra factory has been uncovered by nearby allied troops who followed the coordinates provided by the undercover janitor. The factory is presumably one of the largest they've faced so far, hidden into the side of a mountain, the building a tunnel forged into the rock itself. The true size of the factory is unknown, but the allied soldiers reported seeing a steady stream of trucks and armours coming to and from the factory, indicating it's relatively important to Hydra's war effort.

Everyone gets inside and sorts out their gear as Steve closes the cabin door, sealing off the exit.

"Buckle in, Buck," Steve says with a cheesy grin, taking his seat along the way toward the front of the plane, close to the cockpit to speak with Stark.

"Roger that, Rogers," Bucky chuckles in return, dutifully buckling his seat belt. The Howling Commandos all roll their eyes and groan, having heard the joke every time they fly in a plane.

They buckle themselves into their seats in preparation for the take-off, the plane rumbling to life down the runway and rattling into the sky. The force makes their stomachs swoop uncomfortably, having eaten a large dinner in preparation for the mission. Once they've levelled out and the rocking from the wind has calmed considerably with the higher altitude, Howard announces over the speakers that they can move around the cabin. Steve immediately stands from his seat beside Isabel, going to the cockpit to talk to Howard about their landing position, his shoulders tense with unease about the mission. He always gets like that.

Bucky turns to Isabel across the cabin. " _Have you talked to him yet?_ " Bucky mouths.

Isabel glares at him. " _No, not yet. We're on a mission now,"_ Isabel mouths back.

Bucky rolls his eyes and Isabel subtlety flips him the bird.

"He never rests, does he?" Dugan asks, watching Steve's tense back as he communicates with Stark.

"Nope, but that doesn't mean I can't," Bucky says. He unbuckles himself too, lying down on the ground of the plane, using the time to catch up on any lost sleep. The other Commandos follow suit, finding a space on the floor and closing their eyes, managing to fall asleep despite the rumbling engines.

Isabel stands and walks up to the cockpit, stumbling a little with the movement of the plane. Steve blocks the doorway, leaning against the frame and speaking to Howard. She puts her hands on Steve's shoulders and peers under his arm. Steve looks over his shoulder at her, fumbling his serious conversation with Stark. Isabel sees the scientist in the pilot seat with a microphone and headset over his ears. Howard spots her and waves, leaving one hand on the steering mechanism.

"Come, sit in here," he yells over the sound of the plane.

Steve moves to the side, letting Isabel past. She plops into the second pilot's seat, immediately looking out the front windows. They're flying over the English Channel, the sun setting far off on the horizon and turning the sky a dull pink as night takes hold, the lands of France just visible in the distance. She leans forward to look down at the water below, and then to the sea out to their right.

"Wow," she yells over the whirr of the engine. "This view is beautiful."

"One of the perks of flying you guys through enemy territory. Too bad we're usually travelling at night," Stark smirks, tilting the steering mechanism slightly to the left. Isabel sits back in her seat, looking around at all the flashing lights on the dash and the roof of the cockpit with wide eyes. "Impressive, right?" Stark says. "Though it's no Stark plane, it's still the best mode of air transportation we have to date."

"Is it hard to fly?"

"Not for me, but for you maybe," Stark says seriously, smirking at Isabel's offended reaction. "I'm messing with you, doll, you're the smartest dame I know. Though, I'm going to have to put Agent Carter up there too, or else I'll never walk again." He shifts in his seat then, leaning forward, and hands Isabel another pair of headphones so that she can listen to him easier and to the transmissions. She puts them on snugly over her ears. "Now, listen, here. The controls are confusing at first. It's a real art form to ploy them all at the right time. But once you get the hang of it, it's as easy as driving a car. That's all it really is; a very fast, flying metal car."

"I've never driven a car. Can't be too hard though, right?" Isabel asks confidently.

Stark almost looks offended. "Doll, have you lived? I know you have cars in Brooklyn, I've been there myself. Here, let me enlighten you…"

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He leaves Isabel with Stark who begins to point out the different controls and buttons, explaining what each thing does and when the right time is to employ them. Steve walks back through the cabin, stepping over the sleeping bodies of his men, and finds a spot in the far corner in the tail of the plane, sitting with his back against the metal wall. He's not tired, but he knows he'll need all of his energy for this mission, and none of them ever know when they'll get their next feed or sleep. He leans his head against the wall and eventually finds himself dozing off to the sound of the whirring engines and the rattle of the metal behind his head.

* * *

Steve jolts awake sometime later when he feels something move next to him, opening his eyes. Isabel looks apologetic, carefully sitting down next to him. "I didn't mean to wake you," she apologises.

"It's okay, I was only dozing," Steve reassures, taking her hand in his. "You an expert pilot now?"

"Oh, definitely. I could land this baby all on my own if I tried," Isabel laughs, patting the floor of the plane.

"You've never even driven a car," Steve says, cracking up.

"Well, maybe we can remedy that. Will you let me drive one of the army trucks back to base one time?" She pushes, raising her eyebrows at him with her excitement.

"What?" Steve laughs. "You want to learn how to drive a car on a mission in enemy territory?" Steve reiterates.

Isabel shrugs. "Why not? You did. You'd never driven a car before we came here either; Monty and Bucky had to teach you. Gotta learn sometime. It isn't an issue of space or lack of vehicles – we have all the space we could ask for since we're usually all alone in this war wasteland, and we can easily steal a car from a Hydra factory somewhere. I'd get you back to base just fine!"

"No, I don't thi–" Steve starts to protest, but chokes on his words when he sees Isabel's expression.

She's suddenly turned to him, her eyes wide and doe-like, fluttering her eyelashes. "Stevie," she says in a voice a pitch higher than her own, "If you don't teach me to drive, I'll just ask one of the other boys. I'm sure one of them will happily teach me. You wouldn't want me to get stuck somewhere all alone and not be able to drive to safety, would you?"

Steve looks at her a moment with wide eyes, a smile growing on his face. "Fine," Steve gives, his voice a little strained. "If we're ever driving around, have the time and aren't in any imminent danger of being chased down by Hydra, I'll teach you how to drive. I'm sure the fellas won't mind another whiplash inducing drive."

"Good man," Isabel laughs, kissing Steve's cheek in thanks. "I heard your first time behind the wheel got off to a rough start."

"Stick's hard to learn," Steve shrugs. His first time driving had indeed been rocky, and he hadn't been much of a driver. He's been in cars before, obviously, and he knows how they work, but being a passenger when Bucky borrowed the Barnes' family car to drive them somewhere and actually driving are two very different things. It had taken only a few minutes for Bucky and Monty to explain how everything worked, and Steve got it just fine, but at that point he was still a little uncomfortable and uncoordinated in his body and it took him quite a whole to coordinate everything with his arms and legs at once. After an hour or so they were flying through the countryside.

"Where did you learn that face?" Steve asks to change the subject, squeezing Isabel's hand.

"Peggy taught me," Isabel says, smirking at Steve. "She told me it would work like a charm, and what do you know…" She laughs, leaning in a little closer, catching Steve's lips with her own. She smiles into the kiss and so does he, breaking apart after a few moments. She remains right up close, her lips nearly brushing his again, and looks up into his eyes, a sneaky smile on her red lips. "So, you really will teach me to drive?"

"'Course," Steve tells her with a smile, his shoulders sagging as he calms. He lifts his own hand to thread through Isabel's hair, pulled back into a short pony tail. "Anything for you, Belle."

Isabel smiles brighter, her eyes crinkling and going soft with affection. She brings a hand up to stroke it gently across Steve's cheek. After a second's hesitation, she says, "Steve?"

"Yeah, Belle?"

"I–" Isabel opens her mouth, the words on the tip of her tongue, just as a loud groaning noise comes from one of the men. They jump apart in surprise and turn, finding Dugan sitting up and looking at them disgust, his eyes heavy from sleep.

"Oh, nausea. Save it for the bedroom," Dugan mutters.

Steve's cheeks go as red as a tomato.

* * *

Eventually all of the Commandos are wide awake, the plane crossing the border into Greece. They've been flying for hours, the plane rocking slightly in the wind, the low rumble of the plane's engines the only thing piercing the silence of the sleeping European countryside below. Of course, they know below is far from silent, the lands ravaged by war and turmoil. The forest of trees hides the gunfire and explosions and waiting enemy, seemingly stretching forever in all directions.

"We'll land the plane eleven miles away from the factory, around here, at the closest Allied air base. We'll have to walk the rest of the way, along this route, south-west," Steve is directing, using a scribbled-on map of Europe as a visual guide. The Commandos all crowd around to heed his instruction. Jones holds a flashlight up to the page. "Isabel, we leave you here," Steve says, pointing to the same spot on the map that Peggy had shown Isabel earlier. "Then, we get in quickly and check for intel. Word has it that there is an office for Zola at this site, so we need to find it. This may be our chance to get some information on Hydra's weaponry. We search for any prisoners and then we get out and take the factory down. Stark will fly back to London before daybreak, then he'll come back for us tomorrow night if we're ready at the airfield. If not, the next night. Then, we high-tail it out of here."

"Sounds solid," Dugan says. "No foreseeable issues?"

"Eh," Steve says, giving the 'so-so' hand gesture as he rolls the map back up. "The terrain isn't flat around here so getting to the spot may be more challenging, but hills give us an advantage. The problem is the factory is hidden in the mountainside, so it'll be impossible to tell the size of it until we're inside. And so far, our intel has only notified us of one visible entrance and exit, which may make getting out a little hard. We won't know until we get there. Still, one entrance means limited deposits of security around the site. Getting in shouldn't be a problem. We just have to knock on the front door–"

Suddenly, a loud bang sounds somewhere in the air nearby, rocking the plane slightly.

"This may be a problem," Falsworth says, looking out one of the small side windows of the plane.

Outside through the pitch black, bombs have started to shoot up from in the trees, exploding in the air in massive fireballs, inching closer to the plane.

"Fuck," Steve curses. "Howard we're being targeted, evasive manoeuvres!"

The plane begins the rock violently, both from the blasts outside and from Howard shuffling the plane back and forth in a zig-zag fashion to limit the possibility of a direct hit.

"Is it Hydra?" Dugan yells. "We're close to the factory."

"How are we supposed to see from up here, Dum Dum?" Bucky yells back, frustrated. "Could be goddamn anyone. The Nazi's have occupied Greece since nineteen-forty."

"What do we do?" Morita asks, clutching tightly to his medical kit and trying not to fall over.

"We hope we pass them. This happens all the time," Steve yells in reassurance over the roar of the engines, holding tightly to Isabel beside him.

It does happen all the time. Nearly every time they fly over enemy territory they encounter a small barrage from random sites set up to shoot down planes. But they've never been attacked before at night, since the darkness always conceals the plane from view from the ground. They rarely fly during daylight hours for that exact reason. But even in daylight, the barrage has never gotten this close to the plane, has never rocked it in the sky or the force been enough to knock them over.

Howard sweves the plane randomly through the sky, up and down and side to side, but the explosives become more accurate each time, nearing closer to the plane.

"They must be tracking our movement, somehow!" Howard yells over all the noise. "I don't know how they can see us–"

Suddenly, a bang sounds right outside the plane, almost deafening everyone on board. The plane shudders and jerks so hard that everyone falls over, thrown into the air by the force of the impact. The terrible sound of metal splitting fills the plane and then the rush of howling air. A wave of hot air fills part of the cabin through the hole in the wall, searing and red.

Isabel's ears ring, and when she looks up from where she's pinned by Steve's arm to the floor, there's a hole in the wall of the side of the plane, the air violently rushing out of the hole like a vacuum. Dernier is only just pulled out of the suction of the wind by Jones, saved from being sucked out into the black sky surrounding them. Dernier looks frightened but relieved, holding tightly to one of the bars running along the plane's wall. He's a bit black with soot as though he got caught up in the small fireball that exploded into the cabin. Nevertheless, he gives his Captain a thumbs up, indicating he's fine.

Steve jumps up quickly, dragging Isabel with him. Outside the hole, the wing of the plane is visible, looking awfully fragile and flimsy, flapping in the heavy wind with parts of it breaking off behind it. The engine itself clicks and shudders, and blows out billows of smoke and fire, bright red and yellow against the black sky, only drawing more attention to them.

The plane slowly turns to the left, propelled forward by only one completely working engine, but that engine isn't enough to keep them in the air. Steve hurries to the cockpit, and Howard turns off the second engine, the plane falling into an eerie silence.

"We can glide for a couple of miles," Howard tells Steve whilst flicking various switches on the roof. "Depends on our weight and altitude, but we can probably make it to the airfield and make a safe landing. As long as we don't get hit again."

That's not possible, however, because the only thing stopping them from getting hit earlier was Howard's evasive manoeuvres, which aren't possible without two working engines. Every turn of the plane would cause them to lose precious altitude, which would lower their chances of making it to the airfield.

Howard speaks into his headset, radioing someone at the airfield they're heading to.

Suddenly, the plane takes another hit, this time to the underside of the cabin. The floor of the plane bursts opens with a wide crack where it hits, and bits of the metal underneath the flooring peel away in the wind. The force throws them up upward and forward toward the front of the plane. Isabel trips, her head knocking into the window, and she feels her eyebrow snag the window shade latch, drawing blood.

The force sends the plane's nose downward and the plane begins an alarming free fall. Gone is Howard's plan of gliding toward safety; the way they're losing altitude, they'll hit the ground somewhere on the mountainsides below them. The force of the free fall threatens to send them flying toward the back of the plane. Dugan grabs hold of Isabel's wrist just as she floats backward and pulls her against the wall next to him, sitting wedged between the seats for support.

The alarms of the plane are blaring, but the noise is drowned out by the rush of the wind and by their hearts beating fast in their chests, loud in their heads. Steve makes himself stand upright and help Howard as he grabs the steering column and attempt to straighten it out to at least halt their descent. Howard groans and yells as he attempts to hold it, and eventually, the plane painfully levels out slightly, but then suddenly there's a loud band and snap, and the steering column just wiggles freely in Howard's hand without moving the plane.

"The steering just malfunctioned, Cap," Howard tells Steve in a panicked voice. "We won't make it. We're crashing. Time to eject."

Steve stares at Howard in exasperation for just a second before he recovers, jumping the cracks in the floor and running to the box bolted to the back of the plane. He opens it by ripping the door off its hinges, revealing four parachutes.

"That's not enough!" Falsworth yells over the roar of the winds and the engine.

"We'll have to pair up!" Steve instructs, eyeing each person quickly to guesstimate their weight. The parachutes can only carry so much to land at a safe speed. "Jones, take Dernier. Dugan, you take Stark. Morita, you're with Falsworth," Steve instructs, handing out the parachutes quickly. The men quickly suit up, the larger of the men strapping the backpack to themselves. "Go! Green light!" Steve tells them.

The explosions are coming much less now, and most of them are far away behind them, meaning they've likely passed over the site. But the plane's going down and there's no way to escape it. One by one, the pairs jump from through the hole of the plane, allowing the wind to carry them into the vast blackness and to the ground below.

Steve quickly approaches Isabel and Bucky, Isabel still seated on the ground where Dugan had been before, Bucky crouched beside her to stabilise himself.

"Buck, you take Isabel," Steve tells Bucky, handing him the last parachute.

Bucky hurries to shrug the parachute pack and all its components on, tightening it over his chest and arms to ensure it won't pull off midair. Steve pulls Isabel into a standing position just as the plane is hit by another final explosion, the plane veering suddenly toward its broken wing and sending them hard into the wall, knocking the breath from Isabel's lungs. Despite Steve's body squashing her small figure against the wall, his hand cups the back of her head to stop it from slamming into the metal, his other hand shooting out to grab Bucky and stop him from slamming into the wall himself.

"God, you're heavy!" Isabel yells, pushing Steve off of her once they can stabilise themselves again and Bucky's standing.

"Sorry!"

Another lot of the plane's panic mode systems begin blaring at the back of the plane, making it hard to hear anything. The dim lights in the cabin flash, over the roof and along the walls that aren't blown to smithereens.

"Wait, where's your parachute?" Isabel yells to Steve, seeing his hands are empty and looking around the cabin for another box of parachutes, only to find none.

"There's another one in the cockpit," Steve promises. "I'll be right behind you. I promise."

Isabel nods, and surges forward to plant an emotional kiss to Steve's lips, panic in her eyes. Steve kisses back but cuts it off short.

"You need to go, now," Steve demands, guiding her back toward Bucky who has slowly edged closer to the hole in the wall, holding the wall to keep himself in place against the force. Isabel steps toward him, grabbing the hand he offers to pull her toward him. The cold air makes her hands and nose feel frozen instantly. The hole is slowly getting bigger, chunks of the plane's wall ripping away in the wind. She makes the mistake of looking down, shrieking at the sight of the ground below them, frighteningly closer than it had been minutes earlier, but her shriek is lost in the howling of the wind.

"Jump up," Bucky tells her, holding his arms out.

Isabel jumps into his arms, clamping her legs around his waist and holding on tightly to his shoulders. Bucky threads an extra strap around her waist, connecting to his own parachute. To his credit, Bucky grips her tightly, almost tight enough that she can't breathe, one arm around her back and the other over her shoulders, holding her head against his shoulder. Isabel keeps her eyes on Steve as Bucky edges toward the door to the plane and doesn't hesitate as he steps over the side, Steve disappearing from view within the plane's cabin.

They tumble uncontrollably, caught up in the wind from the engine, looking at the sky and the ground in a dizzying pattern. All Isabel can see through her hair whipping in her eyes and over Bucky's shoulder is the dark grey of the sky and the white lights of the stars above them.

Then suddenly, they're free falling. The wind whips them, cold enough that it feels like it's skinning them alive, and any scream that may have escaped Isabel is lodged in her throat like a bullet. She holds tighter to her brother, who returns the gesture, clamping her eyes shut. They fall, a horrible feeling of being out of control, their stomachs seemingly rising into their throats, faster and faster until they finally plateau.

Eventually, it feels like they aren't moving at all, like they're suspended hundreds of meters above the ground by an invisible force. Time seems to slow down, and it feels like they've been falling for hours, silent, when in reality it hasn't even been thirty seconds.

Bucky suddenly yells, "Pull the chute!"

Isabel hesitates, not wanting to let go of her grip on Bucky, worried that as soon as she does she'll fly out of his arms. He feels her tense and hesitate, holding her even tighter. "I won't let you fall," he yells into her ear, barely audible over the rushing wind.

Isabel lets go quickly with one arm, grabbing the chute cord by Bucky's head and pulling hard. The chute billows out of the pack on Bucky's back, jolting them forcefully upward as it fills with air and slows their descent. It knocks the air audibly from Bucky's lungs and causes an ache in Isabel's arms where she clings to her brother.

The noise of the wind immediately calms as they float slowly down toward the trees and mountains below, only hearing the sound of the soft whipping of the silk chute above them. Isabel carefully looks down, her heart pounding at the sight of them still so high above the mountain. They're heading toward the top of the mountain and the thick tree growth covering it.

She forces her mind to count all three of the other white chutes further below them, Dernier and Jones already almost to the ground. Then she looks up, searching around the billowing material of their own chute for Steve's chute above them. There's no chute, only a burning plane falling to the ground on their left, having passed them on their descent without a parachute to slow it down.

"Where's Steve?" Isabel screeches, her panic instantly taking over.

Bucky looks around then from his steely staring into the distance, his own eyes wide and horrified. "He said he was following!"

They both squint over at the plane. The engine, which had been billowing and sputtering all this time, finally explodes and lights up the plane like a Christmas tree, illuminating the navy-blue clad figure standing in the hole of the plane with his arms propped against its sharp edges to stop himself from flying out. Steve stares up at them as they float safely to the ground.

"He doesn't have a chute," Isabel cries, the information just dawning on her.

They watch in horror as the plane and Steve inside spiral to the ground a few hundred meters away from them, fire bursting out from the ruined engine and leaving a trail of black smoke behind it. It hits the trees hard, accompanied by the sound of crunching metal and snapping trees, breaking through the evergreens. They hear the sound of the plane landing with a loud resounding thunk on the side of the rocky mountain, and immediately it explodes, sending heat through the air and lighting up the woods around it, sparking the trees to burn.

"No!" Isabel finally manages to scream just as they themselves hit the trees at a very fast pace despite their parachute.

Isabel and Bucky fall through the green leaves, bounce off branches, and crash through the smaller twig-like branches, letting out grunts and cries of pain as they hit the hard wood and are cut up by the sharp branches. Nevertheless, Bucky keeps a tight grip on his sister, cushioning at least some of the force. Their parachute gets tangled in the thicker branches above them and they come to an abrupt stop just before hitting the ground, suspended in the air by Bucky's pack. It saves them a hard landing and most likely broken bones, but it doesn't hurt any less. Bucky lets out a cry, the backpack pulling on his shoulders and chest painfully. Isabel feels the wind knocked out of her and takes a moment to catch her breath again.

Isabel looks down carefully, judging she'll land somewhat safely from this height. After another second to psyche herself, Isabel reaches around and unclips herself from Bucky's pack before she lets go of Bucky's neck, falling a few feet to the ground below. She lands off balance, falling forward on her hands and knees. She feels a small twinge in one of her wrists, but she comes off alright. Her arms and legs are stinging with cuts from the branches. The old blood from the bang to her eyebrow on the plane mixes with the new blood oozing from a fairly large cut on her cheek, the blood leaking down her jaw and onto her neck.

She looks up just as Bucky manages to awkwardly unbuckle himself from the parachute, falling momentarily before landing crouched beside her, much more agile than Isabel. His own body is littered with cuts and red blotches, sure to bruise sooner or later, but he seems no worse for wear.

"Are you okay?" He asks his sister, holding his own chest tightly as if hugging away the pain from the backpack's straps.

"I- I think I'm fine, you?" Isabel says, standing up on extremely shaky legs, unsure if they'll even hold her. Her focus is cast through the trees where they can vaguely make out the burning fire of the plane that illuminates the dark, dense forest.

"Fine," Bucky says solemnly, looking toward the plane as well.

After a second, Bucky takes Isabel's hand, which he notices is shaking extremely in his, and leads her toward the plane. They move carefully but quickly, Bucky sweeping the area with his eyes, his pistol raised in his other hand. Isabel allows herself to be pulled along, dreading approaching the plane in case they find something less than pleasant.

They get as close as possible without catching on fire themselves. The plane is unrecognisable, a scorched hunk of metal, the nose of the plane concave from landing face down. The wings have snapped off the main body, one lying in a crumpled heap at the side of the plane and the other fallen down the end of the mountain a few metres down. The windows of the cockpit and passenger area have been blown out by the explosions and the impact, shattered glass littering the ground. The glass also falls from the trees above them, along with ash and soot, like a deadly rain soaking them in black.

Bucky inches closer to the flaming vehicle, calling out for Steve with panic clear in his voice, no matter how he attempts to hide it. He runs up and down the plane and searches the ground and surrounding forest for their blonde friend. He then steps up to the edge of the mountain, where the ground slopes down for a few hundred yards before dropping off into a ravine. If the plane had landed ever a few metres to the right, it would have rolled down the hill to the bottom.

"B-Buck, don't fall," Isabel calls out in warning, watching as Bucky slowly walks down the slope to make sure Steve hasn't fallen anywhere down there in the thick shrubbery. Isabel waits where Bucky left her. Even if she felt inclined to follow, she's not sure she could make her legs work.

Behind her, Isabel hears the muffled mumble of voices shouting and it jolts her out of her thoughts. She immediately goes on guard, pulling a handgun from the pocket of her pants and pointing it into the trees, finger on the trigger. Her breathing quickens and she feels another surge of adrenaline rush through her. She's anticipating soldiers bursting out of the tree line, drawn from their other positions by the flaming plane. Whoever shot them down, Axis or Hydra, must be wanting to come and investigate. And if it was Hydra, they must be searching for the Howling Commandos who would have jumped from the plane. Surely if Hydra was trying to take them down, they would follow them up, try to find them, take them to the nearby factory, to the Red Sku–

As they get closer, Isabel recognises the voices as some of the other Commandos running toward the wreckage. Dugan appears through the trees first, followed by Falsworth and Jones, who all stop to stare at the flaming plane in awe. Dugan catches sight of Isabel with her gun raised, quickly moving toward her.

"Whoa, darlin', it's just us," he assures.

Isabel lowers the gun slowly, her eyes wide with shock. She feels a massive sense of relief rush through her, but the fear that Hydra will come never truly leaves. She's about to tell them they must be being tracked when Bucky appears from the other end of the plane, having done a lap of it and around the area. His features are solemn as he shields his face from the heat and jogs back to the group. Dugan looks around then, confused. Isabel's brain doesn't seem to be functioning properly, all she can think of is Steve and Hydra, and it takes her another second to realise Dugan's clutching a broken arm to his chest, the bone of his wrist sitting at an odd angle on top of the bone in his hand.

"Where's the Captain?" Falsworth wonders aloud, asking the question they're all thinking.

Isabel can't help it. She begins to cry, hiding her face in her hands and turning away from the soldiers, who take her reaction to mean something is wrong. "I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him," she cries into her hands.

"Steve didn't have a chute, I don't know if he jumped from the plane," Bucky quietly tells them.

"If he's still in there…" Falsworth mutters, and the four men turn to stare at the burning wreckage. No one could survive that fire and heat, not even a super-soldier.

"Maybe he jumped when he got lower to the ground?" Jones asks, always one to see the cloud's silver lining.

"What? When the plane exploded?" Isabel shoots back, glaring at Jones over her shoulder.

Jones ignores Isabel's snark, looking pointedly at Monty. Falsworth pulls his walkie-talkie from his pocket, setting it to the frequency of Steve's own radio, holding a finger to the button on the side. "Cap?" He says slowly. "Come in, Captain?"

Static fills the air around them, loudly spilling from the radio's speaker.

"Captain Rogers, this is Lieutenant Falsworth requesting a response regarding your current situation and location. Over."

The static wears on, and Isabel brings her hand back up to shield her eyes, the tears spilling over again. The saltiness stings the cut on her cheek, making her eyes water further. Bucky steps toward her and pulls her into his chest, his arms protectively encircling her and patting her hair comfortingly, hushing her quietly. He keeps his eyes wary, flicking between Falsworth, the wreckage, and the forest around them.

"I didn't tell him, Buck. I shouldn't have waited. He never knew," she cries into his chest. Bucky sighs, his entire body seemingly deflating. Isabel feels something wet drip onto the top of her hair as Bucky lets a few tears fall himself.

"He isn't responding," Falsworth eventually gives in, putting the hand-held radio back in his pocket. "He must be…" Falsworth looks again to the burning plane and then slowly removes the beret from his head, holding it against his chest in solemn mourning.

"Well, we know the drill," Dugan says, stepping up in Bucky's place as the Sergeant seems in no way able to lead the group right now. His own bowler-hat has been removed, tucked under his armpit. "We need to keep moving, get away from the crash site. The smoke and flames are only going to attract whoever shot us down to our position. From how many explosions we were dodging up there, there's a lot of them out here somewhere. We just have to hope we don't run into them on the way out of here."

"We still gonna take the factory?"

"We don't even know where the damn thing is, we got so turned around coming down. Plus, I don't think it's awful wise to take down Hydra without our personal shield. We're all injured anyway; we should try to get to the airfield."

In agreement, the group begin to walk, following Dugan to where the other Commandos are waiting, leaving the burning flames behind them. With every step Bucky forces Isabel to take, the tears from both of them fall faster, their eyes growing red and puffy. Bucky sniffs and holds it in after giving himself a few minutes, his eyes roaming the forest around them. Isabel is in a state of shock, not knowing how to process it. It doesn't seem real and it doesn't seem possible.

After walking a few hundred meters, Jones slows his pace to fall into line with Isabel and Bucky, Bucky still with his arm around his sister's shoulders, his hand rubbing her upper arm comfortingly.

"Isabel," Jones says carefully. "A few of us were injured in the fall. Dugan's arm, as you saw. But also, Morita is treating Dernier back where we landed. He got stabbed by a branch in his side in our descent. It's rather deep. We're going to need you to help."

Isabel knows that Morita could easily deal with the injuries himself and that Gabe is trying to give her something to do as a distraction, for which she is thankful. She wipes her eyes, accidentally smearing the blood from the gash on her cheek as well. She wills herself not to think about it yet, to wait until later. She pushes the pain down, way down to the soles of her boots, and takes a deep breath.

"Okay. I'm okay, I can do this," she reassures, more to herself, looking up at Jones with determined eyes and a mouth set in a thin line.

After a few more minutes of walking over the rugged terrain, the group reaches Dernier, Morita and Stark. Stark looks relatively unharmed, only a little bashed up. Jim is finishing wrapping the wound on Jacques' side, just below his last rib. Blood is soaking a small spot on the bandage already, and the bandage sticks up awkwardly, a piece of twig emerging from a hasty hole made in the bandage to accommodate it. Isabel approaches, kneeling down beside Morita.

"How deep is it?" She asks, her voice hollow and empty. She puts a comforting hand on Dernier's forehead, feeling it is sheen with a layer of sweat, his skin hot to the touch.

"It's not very big, but he fell on it hard. It's quite deep. I don't think it punctured anything important, though; he'd be in more pain if it had. I was going to remove it before I bandaged it, but as soon as I touched it Dernier shrieked and it started spewing blood. We can't have him drawing attention or bleeding out until we're somewhere safer where we have the security to attend to him. The twig is stopping the bleeding a little bit."

Isabel nods in agreement. "It should be okay for a while until we can get somewhere safer. He won't make it all the way to the airfield like this. We'll have to make camp. But we need to get there quick. The longer it stays in, the more likely it is to get infected."

Morita nods, and with that, he and Falsworth lift Dernier from the ground, supporting him with his arms over their shoulders. Meanwhile, Dugan, Stark and Bucky had been pondering over the maps, trying to locate their current position and the direction they need to travel. Once they're sure they'll be heading toward the airfield, the group begins to walk through the black forest, hurrying to get away from the burning wreckage. They walk silently, only the sound of their panting breaths and the thump of their boots audible.

Dugan and Jones take the front, ensuring the path is safe to follow. Stark walks in the middle of the group, without a weapon, telling Falsworth he prefers to design them rather than shoot them. Bucky stays at the back of the group, near his sister, pistol raised carefully as he scours the forests behind them, having abandoned his favourite rifle on the crashing plane in favour of hanging onto Isabel. Nearly every shadow draws Bucky's attention, but he never shoots, wary that the sound of gunfire could further attract unfriendlies.

Isabel begins to feel sore from the fall, her muscles seizing up slightly, a harsh pain in her right elbow where it hit one of the branches on the way down. She lifts her sleeve and looks at it, a dark bruise already forming along the bone.

The terrain starts to slope as they make their way down from the top plateau of the mountain into the valleys. Their path through the trees gets steeper and the ground is covered in small rocky debris that slides around under their feet. The thick foliage and leaves on the ground provide some traction.

It's painfully slow going getting everyone down the mountain. Morita and Falsworth walk in the middle supporting Dernier, and they set the pace for everyone else to follow. It works well for Dugan and Jones because it gives them time to scour the forests in front of them. But for Isabel, Bucky and Howard, its slow and painful. They can still smell the burning plane, the odour of plastic and metal melting and charring. It's a painful reminder that seems to waft off after them, following on the backs of their heels.

And Dugan had been right before. It feels weird to be walking around in enemy territory without Steve. He's only one man, but Steve holds within him the power and protection of twenty men, and it isn't without its peace of mind. Walking without him at the front of the pack makes them all feel vulnerable, unguarded, and intimidated under the towering trees.

Suddenly, from behind them, Isabel and Bucky hear thumping footsteps and rustling cut through the silence. They both halt and turn to look, listening quietly. It's a singular set of footsteps, but its loud and quick, whoever it is approaching fast. As the Barnes siblings halt, so does the rest of the group. Morita and Falsworth duck down beside a large tree with Dernier, the Frenchman muttering quiet curses. Jones and Dugan scan the rest of the tree line for any other approaching parties, eyes darting back to the loud footsteps.

Isabel raises her pistol from her pocket again, clicking the safety off. Her eyes scan the woods, only just making out the dark silhouette of a tall figure coming toward them. It gets closer and the person becomes clearer, until through the woods appears Steve.

Steve's face is scrunched up in pain, and he's bruised and battered, a large burn noticeable even from afar on his cheek. His uniform is singed from the flames with large slices missing across the chest, the cuts gushing blood. He walks toward them quickly, though with a slight limp in his gait, clutching his chest tightly with one arm and his shield and a rifle dangling from his other hand.

Dugan is the first to speak up, recovering from his shock. "Cap!" He cheers, his face lighting up into a smile under his skewed bowler hat, still somehow on his head after parachuting from the plane.

Isabel feels her legs moving before she even thinks about it, and suddenly she's sprinting toward Steve and throwing herself into his arms. He drops the shield and rifle in his hands and catches her, only letting out the smallest of groans at the impact, and clutches her tightly to his chest, her feet dangling off the ground. Isabel buries her face in his neck, wetting it with hot tears.

"Oh, thank god! I thought you were dead," she cries.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Steve reassures.

"You lied to me!" She accuses, the tears falling faster.

"I know, I'm sorry. It was the only way I could get you both to go," Steve apologises, running a hand through her hair.

"I didn't get to tell you. I thought I waited too long," she continues to babble.

She pulls back and kisses Steve forcefully on the lips. He kisses back passionately, holding her up with only one arm as the other grips the back of her head. They break apart, staring into each other's eyes. Steve can see the relief on her face, and also the remaining terror, and he immediately feels a terrible guilt flood through him.

"I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much. I should have told you. I love you, I love you, and I thought I lost you," she repeats over and over, the tears flowing faster with every confession.

"Belle," Steve breathes, taken back by her confession, his eyes wide. After a second, Steve smiles at her, his face dirty and red but still beautiful nonetheless. "Not as much as I love you," he tells her cheekily but honestly, meeting her lips once again.

They break away and their foreheads touch momentarily before Steve puts her down. She immediately starts looking at the scorch marks and cuts on his arms and chest, and the large bruise forming on his forehead. When she pulls back the shards of his uniform slightly, she gasps at the sight of the burns on his skin where the fire has touched him through the rips in the material.

"How the hell did you survive?" Dugan asks in admiration over Isabel's fussing, clutching his broken arm to his chest.

"I jumped when the plane was nearly at the ground. Waited a little too long though, because I got caught up in the final explosion and took myself out on the serrated edge of the hole," Steve answers, waving a hand over the large slashes across his chest that have cut through the uniform. "Hit the ground pretty hard and knocked myself out, I think. When I woke up, I was slumped over this large rock jutting out halfway down the side of the mountain. I must have rolled down."

"You're lucky you didn't fall all that way," Falsworth notes. "That would've been hundreds of metres."

"I know," Steve agrees. "I had to climb back up, which took a fair while. I got to the top and the plane was still burning. I tracked you all here." He rubs his forehead, wincing in pain, a large bruise forming on his left temple. Isabel looks at that too, trying to get Steve to stay still. "Belle, I'm okay," Steve tries to reassure, and Isabel gives him a pointed look that shows she clearly doesn't believe him.

Bucky steps toward Steve then, having hung back a bit to allow Isabel and Steve to reunite. Steve turns to Bucky as soon as he notices him, looking proud and relieved, but backs up when he realises the brunette looks furious.

"What the hell were you thinking, Steve? You're being too reckless!" Bucky demands, stomping up to face Steve. He's a little shorter now, but Steve still shrinks away from his friend's wrath. "You could have died and then what would we all have done? What would Belle have done?" Bucky's voice is angry, but his eyes are hurting. "I swear that serum has made you even more suicidal than usual. At least your poor sainted mother isn't around to give me grief for it."

"Your faith in me is touching, Bucky, truly," Steve deadpans, finally finding his pained voice.

"The only thing touched around here is you, and that's in the head," Bucky says angrily, pointing an accusing finger at Steve. But then his resolve seems to melt, because he steps forward and embraces Steve, slapping his friend on the back. "As much as you annoy the shit outta me, I'm glad you're okay, punk."

"Yeah, thanks, jerk," Steve replies, smiling at Bucky's sudden mood changes.

"You said you tracked us, Captain? How? There aren't any footprints, we made sure," Falsworth asks.

"Not that you can see," Steve tells them. "My eyes, they're so powerful and everything is so clear. I can see the path you've taken, how the leaves have been crushed under your boots and the branches have been moved aside. And your scent lingers. I can smell you all."

Everyone is silent for a moment, taking in Steve's abilities. "Did you know you could do that?" Howard asks quietly, looking gobsmacked.

"No, I've never had to try it before."

Howard manages to close his mouth. "Might come in handy," he says with a nod of his head. He pulls a small notepad from his pocket and scribbles some notes.

"I thought you might have wanted this back," Steve says, picking up the rifle from the ground beside his shield. As soon as Bucky sees it, his eyes light up, recognising it as his precious rifle he'd left on the plane in favour on having both hands free to hold Isabel. "You're lucky I didn't lose it down the mountain. I don't think it got too banged up in the fall, maybe just a little dirty and scorched–"

"Oh, my sweetheart. I thought I'd lost you forever," Bucky coos, taking the rifle from Steve and checking it out himself, cradling it like it was made of glass.

"Didn't know that was how you felt about Cap, Serge," Dugan jokes.

"You know I was talkin' 'bout the rifle, Dum Dum," Bucky retorts without looking up from examining his rifle. It has a few dings in the metal, but nothing that will inhibit it working.

"Does that make you any less mad at me?" Steve tries sheepishly.

Bucky looks up with a glare. "Nah, pal. I still got a bone to pick with you."

"It's quite funny that you request that Captain Rogers refrain from doing anything stupid," Morita notes. "We aren't so much better ourselves. We're all a bunch of morons, really, for doing this. Can you get any more stupid than what we volunteer to do?"

"Probably not," Dugan laughs and Bucky glares at the men.

" _Si vous avez tous fini de vous réunir, j'ai une branche dans mon côté que j'aimerais retirer?_ (If you are all finished reuniting, I have a branch in my side that I'd like removed?)" Dernier's sarcastic voice speaks up from where he's hanging off of Jones and Falsworth. Steve turns to him, seeing the Frenchman's extremely pale face, the twig in his side leaking more blood onto his uniform. Jones laughs, offering a translation to the others.

"We'll find our way to the airfield," Steve decides, a little breathless. "We all need medical attention. The mission can wait until another day once we've all recovered. Monty, you got the map?"

Falsworth pulls the map out of his pack and shows Steve the direction they're attempting to head toward the airfield. Steve agrees quickly and they immediately set off again. They need to get down the mountain and make their way to the valley where the airfield sits, unaware that a Hydra factory has been operating for years only a few miles from them.

The sun is slowly rising over the mountain ranges bathing them all in a warm sunlight that shines through the tree canopy in little beams. While the light is helpful for them to see where they're headed, it means they lose their protection against whatever or whoever may be lurking in the woods around them. They know that whoever shot them down must be searching for them and closing in. They can only hope that they can walk far enough in the other direction to escape them.

Steve hangs back by Isabel and Bucky, the limp in his walk seeming to get slightly better with every few steps they take, but he remains hunched over, encircling the wounds on his chest with his arms. He looks weak, taking rather small steps, his face paler than usual despite the burns and bruises. Isabel watches him worriedly while Bucky monitors the woods behind them. It's awfully familiar to see Steve hunched over and bleeding, but never burnt. When Isabel tries to have another look, he turns her away, saying he'll be fine until later and plastering on a pained smile.

"I'm fine, really, Belle," he reassures. "Just a little knocked around."

"You fell out a burning plane and halfway down a cliff," Isabel argues. "I wish you'd let me clear you."

"When we stop," Steve promises. His voice is still puffed and thick, and he gets more unconvincing that he's okay every time Isabel asks. But she finally agrees, and they keep walking.

Steve doesn't hear any other movements around them with his enhanced hearing. After an hour and a half of walking, Steve calls for everyone to stop, partly because he thinks they've gone far enough that they won't be found and partly because he isn't sure how much further he can walk without collapsing in a heap. He consults the map and confirms they are close to the airfield, and that their current position will do while he calls the airfield and notifies them they're coming, and also calls base to tell the SSR they'll be postponing the mission.

Everyone who isn't worryingly injured takes a seat on the ground, still on alert with their rifles raised toward the forests surrounding them. Dernier happily collapses onto the ground, laying down and scrunching his eyebrows in pain, clutching his side. Morita immediately rushes to him, opening the first aid kit he carries and pulling out a needle and thread.

Isabel moves to treat Steve first, who by her professional eye looks to be the most injured. "No, help Dugan and Dernier first," Steve tells her, his voice authoritative and leaving no room for argument. It falls short when he starts coughing as though his lungs had been on fire, and maybe they had.

"But you said–"

"I know what I said, but I'll be okay. It's just a few scrapes. I still have to call base." He pulls his radio from his pocket to make his point known, switching it on and filling the air with low static white noise.

Isabel looks, unconvinced, at the blood soaking his uniform but doesn't argue with her Captain. She knows she'll never be able to talk him around. "Watch him, please," she says to Bucky, who nods, before she scurries over to Dugan, keeping low to the ground.

Isabel quickly examines Dugan before digging through the medical kit, searching for the morphine. The individual medical kits carried by every front-line fighting soldier are rather pitiful, usually containing gauze, bandages, dressings, water purification tablets, inhalants, sting stoppers, two types of antiseptics, and petroleum jelly. The medic's kits are always more stocked, and the Commandos carry a few of both due to the nature of their work. Their medical kits contain a few syrettes of morphine and omnopon – two types of pain medications – iodine, scalpels, and simple braces to temporarily secure jarred, fractured, or broken bones in the major joints.

Isabel isn't sure if even that much will be enough. There's a lot of men that are going to need pain medication, and Steve may need a lot of bandages.

Normally Isabel restocks the kit before they embark on a mission and adds a few extra of the essentials just in case, but she'd been preoccupied the morning they'd left, giving it to one of the other nurses to do it. Unfortunately, the nurse restocked it as a regular medical kit, not that that is anything against her as she was just doing it as the rules suggest, but usually Isabel bends the rules slightly. There are only eight morphine syrettes and three of omnopon. Isabel and Morita will have to work with what they have. She gathers up whatever supplies she can, growling unhappily. She should have checked before they left.

Isabel grabs a morphine syrette and brings it over to Dugan. The syrette is similar to a syringe, except that the tube containing the liquid is flexible, able to be squeezed like a toothpaste tube, with a hollow needle protruding out of it, covered by a clear plastic casing to prove it hadn't been used or tampered. Isabel breaks the seal, revealing the hollow needle. She lifts the sleeve of Dugan's knitted jumper, careful to avoid his broken arm, feeling around for a vein in his elbow and inserting the needle under the skin at a shallow angle. She flattens the tube between her thumb and fingers, injecting the entire dose before pinning the tube to Dugan's collar to remind herself of the dose.

"Let that start working, and I'll be back," she says, leaving Dugan to aid Dernier.

"Yeah, fine. You take your time. I'll just wait here, dying," Dugan says sarcastically. Isabel ignores him, only rewarding him with a hidden smile.

Dernier's been given his own syrette of morphine for the pain, and Isabel helps unwrap the bandages around his thin torso, revealing his pale skin that has been stained red with dark blood, a thin brown twig protruding through the skin. They hear Dugan in the background somewhere make a gagging noise as he watches.

"It definitely needs to be stitched," Isabel notes, moving the stick slightly. Dernier whines in pain, clenching his teeth. "We can't give him too much morphine at once though; we don't have enough and Dum Dum's gonna need more of it later."

"Omnopon?" Morita asks.

"I wanted to save it for Steve. It's stronger, it might work for a while, at least, while we clean him up."

Morita sighs lowly. "Alright. Does anyone have any booze?" Morita asks, looking back at the other guys. "And a belt?"

A leather belt is handed to Morita, and he motions for Dernier to bite down on it. Falsworth hands over his flask of vodka.

" _Ca va faire_ _mal_ (This will hurt)," Isabel warns Dernier in stuttered French, her voice quiet and apologetic.

She mimes with her finger for him to be quiet. Dernier nods and takes a large swig of vodka, more likely equivalent to three mouthfuls, swallowing through the burn of the liquid down his throat and holding the flask tightly in his hand. Morita hands Isabel the needle, motioning for her to do the stitching. She nods to Morita and he takes hold of the twig, ripping it from Dernier's side in one swift motion. Dernier begins to howl with pain but manages to control himself, his eyes watering uncontrollably and his teeth leaving dents in the leather of the belt.

Isabel immediately dumps some iodine disinfectant from the first aid kit onto the wound, making Dernier howl louder at the sting. Then, she gets to work, quickly threading the wound shut with neat and careful stitches, only requiring three or four in total. Her hands are practised, moving swiftly, stitching, pulling threading, wiping away the blood that clots on the skin. When it's closed tightly and she's sure Dernier won't burst it open too easily, she leans forward and uses her teeth to break the string and ties the stitches together. Morita cleans the excess blood from the wound and puts more disinfectant on before wrapping Dernier's torso again tightly to stench the blood flow.

"All done. Jones, please tell Dernier he's got to take it easy for at least a few days. And to keep on with the vodka," Isabel asks, moving away. Dernier remains lying on the floor with the vodka flask to his lips, his forehead slick with sweat. Jones repeats the orders to Dernier in French, and he nods, a silent thank you in his eyes.

"Alright Dugan, feelin' good?" Isabel asks, shuffling back over to Dugan a few feet away.

His face has lost its painful expression, replaced with one of contentedness. "This shit's good," he notes, pointing to the empty morphine syrette on his lapel. "Can't feel a thing."

"Good," Isabel says, grabbing one of the wrist braces. "Because this is going to hurt, too." She takes Dugan's wrist gently, feeling it carefully. She frowns as she moves her hands up and down his arm, feeling the bone. She pushes on certain spots and Dugan flinches. "Distal radius fracture. Extra-articular, displaced."

"English, please?" Morita asks, appearing beside her. He may be a medic, but his knowledge of things other than trench foot, bullet wounds, stab wounds, and the odd bump and cut is slightly limited.

"He's broken his radius at the wrist end of the bone. From what I can feel, it's snapped clean in half around here," she points, pressing slightly and causing Dugan to shift uncomfortably, clenching his teeth. "The broken end of the forearm bone has moved upward on top of his wrist bone. We'll have to push it back down before we splint it. You may have to put it back, it'll require a bit of force."

"You think this is a ticket home?" Dugan asks in a joking manner. They all know the man has no intentions of leaving the front until the job's done.

"Could be, depending on how it heals. If we don't get it in place, they may have to re-break it and set it again back at base. He'll need an x-ray. This will have to do for now," Isabel says, more to Morita, who nods along. Isabel looks back then at Dugan's horrified expression. "It would definitely be a ticket home if you lost it entirely. Want me to chop it here, just below the elbow?" Isabel jokes.

Dugan swallows and manages to smile. "Go for it, darl. I'd kill for a good sleep."

Isabel nods to Morita, indicating Dugan is ready. Morita grasps Dugan's wrist as instructed, pushing with his thumbs to force the broken bit of bone back into place. It pops back in with a snap, the sound of the bones sliding together loud and cringe worthy. Dugan goes a bit green in the face, biting down on the belt against the pain despite the morphine. He then falls backward as he faints, his eyes rolling back into his head, and Falsworth is kind enough to catch his head before it hits the unforgiving ground.

"Weak Americans," Falsworth notes, taking another breath of his cigarette as he puts Dugan's unconscious head down on the ground gently.

Isabel takes Dugan's wrist again, pushing the bone around to make sure it's in the right place. "At least he'll get his good sleep. Alright, can you get me the splint?"

Morita and Isabel stretch the brace over Dugan's floppy hand, snapping it in place to hold his wrist. It supports it somewhat, but when they let go of Dugan's wrist, it curls uncomfortably in a way that would cause him pain were he conscious. They attach the metal rods to the wrist brace, which supports it completely but leavs Dugan unable to move his wrist even if he tried. It won't be much good if they have to fight, but for a simple walk to the airfield it should be fine.

"It's only temporary, but it'll do until we get him back to base. It's going to swell anyway, so we couldn't put a cast on it, even if we had the materials," Isabel says, starting to put the equipment away again.

"Good," Morita says. "Alright, you go see Serge and Cap. I have a feeling they're a little more injured than they're letting on. I'll tend to Jones, Stark and Falsworth's injuries, if they have any." Morita moves instantly to inspect the shallow cut on Jones' leg, only shallow due to the protection offered by the thick material of his pants as they fell through the trees.

Isabel doesn't argue, making her way over to Steve and Bucky, who are sitting on the other side of their temporary camp. "Let me look at you both," she says.

Steve and Bucky look at each other. "Do Bucky first," Steve tells her, his voice slurring as though he's struggling to stay awake.

"You can't fight him," Bucky says quietly.

The siblings stare at Steve for a moment, how pale his face is, how the red burn is inflamed and weeping up his face and down his neck, disappearing beneath the cloth of his uniform. His eyelids flutter like he's drunk. He's mumbling for Isabel to check Bucky first.

"I'll be quick," Isabel promises. Bucky obediently removes his blue jacket, which has a tear in the arm, and then rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a deep red gash on his forearm caused by a scrape from a tree branch. Isabel inspects it quickly. "It doesn't need stitches with the way you heal, but I'll disinfect it and bandage it," she says quietly.

She gets to work, quickly hiding the scrape from sight with the cream bandages. She wipes the blood from a few other scrapes and cuts from his arms and face, inspects the bruising budding on his chest and shoulders from the pack, and then deems him good to go, albeit very bruised and sore.

"If any of them look like they're getting infected, you need to tell me. Even the smallest cuts can turn out to be dangerous."

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky promises cheekily, shrugging his jacket back on against the morning chill.

As Isabel moves away toward Steve, Bucky picks up his rifle again and scours the tree line. Isabel reaches Steve, finally gets close enough to get a good look at him without being pushed away and immediately feels her gut constrict with fear. His eyes are fluttering a little as though he's fighting off sleep, and he's clutching his chest tighter with a pained expression. His uniform is soaked with a pale bloody liquid that Isabel immediately knows is blood mixed with some sort of watery bodily fluid. Her first thought is that he's been burned more severely than just on his face and neck, and her mind flashes to the man in the hospital from all those years ago, the water from his body leaking from his hands like a tap.

"Steve, take off the top part of your uniform," she instructs, looking worriedly at the slashes in the uniform.

"What?" Steve sputters, somehow managing to be embarrassed by the request despite how much pain he's in. His blush looks increasingly dark compared to the unusual pallor of his skin, a colour he hasn't had since before the serum when he was sickly. "No, Isabel, I'm fine. We don't have to-"

"Steve, you are not fine," Isabel argues, exasperated. "You're pale and weak and bleeding. I can see the cuts and burns through the rips in your uniform. You need medical treatment right now, you've put it off long enough. Stop being so damn stubborn. You promised."

"Okay, fine," Steve mumbles, giving in, though Isabel thinks he doesn't have much fight left in him anyway.

As Steve moves, the uniform shifts, and Isabel can see inside the cuts in the material to Steve's skin. It looks red and raw, bloody and blistered. She has to swallow down all her feelings. She has to stay strong for Steve now. He works to unbuckle the top part of his uniform from his pants where it connects at the belt. He finally fumbles it open, but now has the task of removing the tight uniform. His movements are extremely slow and laboured as he tries to pull the tight, thick material over his head, wincing when he lifts his arms. He gives up with the armour and undershirt still around his shoulders.

Isabel's eyes fall immediately to his defined chest peering out from under the material, and she gasps when she sees that the bullet holes from a few months ago are gone, fully healed without even a trace of a scar. Now they are replaced by two deep bloody gashes across his entire chest and stomach as though he'd been slashed by a tiger. His chest and uniform are slick with blood from the cuts. But, where Isabel had just expected the cuts and maybe a little bit of fire damage from being caught in the explosion, she finds skin that has been almost completely burned; Steve's skin is singed from the fire, both on his back and his chest. Some of the skin is red raw and other parts are completely missing, all of the layers of skin burnt away to reveal the muscle and only leaving black flaps of dead skin around the open wounds. The intact skin is blistered. It looks as though he's been on fire, which he probably has been, like a piece of charred meat from a barbecue.

"Jesus Christ," Bucky breathes behind her, looking over her shoulder. Bucky's face goes extremely pale. He swallows loudly before he speaks again. "Looks like your burns training is going to come in handy."

Isabel swallows down the bile in her throat. "I thought the suit was fireproof?" Isabel whispers, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of him.

Anyone in a normal hospital that came in like this would be scarred extensively for life if they were to survive. The rate of survival would be so low anyway. It's just like Sergeant Daley all over again, singed and charred, body fluids leaking out. They just have to hope and pray that Steve's super soldier serum can take care of an injury so severe without any lasting damage. They don't have the equipment out here to take care of the wounds. They don't even have the water supply to wash Steve down as often as he needs to be to keep the burns clean.

Everyone who is still conscious looks up at the sight of Isabel and Bucky's shocked expressions. Steve seems too out of it to notice he's being stared at. Falsworth mutters a few curses and takes a sip from another one of his flasks. Morita looks up from where he's working on Falsworth's sore ankle, his eyes widening. Jones gets up and relieves Bucky of his watch on the woods, since Bucky seems too entranced by Steve's wounds to want to keep watch any longer. He kneels down beside Steve instead, his hands hovering as though wanting to do anything but not wanting to touch Steve.

Stark comes over to investigate at their shocked expressions, resisting the urge to gag. "It _is_ supposed to be fireproof, but not when the flames get in under the suit through the ripped material and catch his entire body on fire," Stark breathes, looking a bit green. "I'll work on it, Captain, don't worry."

Steve looks down slowly, following their line of sight, and his mouth droops down flatly. He doesn't look overly surprised. "The plane exploded, and I got thrown. The fire came in t-through the material. I-I was on fire. I tried to roll to put it out and then I was sliding all the way down the hill. I blacked out and woke up hanging over the edge… I-I guess it does look pretty bad."

"I need to clean these cuts and burns up," Isabel tells Steve. "Lay back. Carefully."

Steve looks at her dopily, all of a sudden seeming extremely tired and dazed, more than before. He eventually does as he's told, though it's more because he sways backward slightly and uses that momentum to fall down completely. His eyes close momentarily, his forehead beading with sweat. Isabel leans anxiously over him, quickly lifting his eyelids to shine a light in his eyes. His pupils are responsive but slow.

"It's going to take his body a while and a lot of sleep to recover this much damage, no matter how fast his healing factor is," she tells Howard, who stays kneeling beside Steve, ready to assist her since Morita is still finishing up with the others. She turns back to Steve, looking at his face. "I'm going to give you some pain relief, okay? It might not work but it's worth a try," Isabel tells Steve, preparing the omnopon syrette.

"No, save it for the others," Steve says.

"Okay," Isabel agrees to satisfy him, but then easily inserts the syrette into the crook of Steve's elbow. He hardly feels it. She pins the syrette to his belt by his hip since his shirt is still hanging around his neck. "I just need you to stay awake for me, honey, okay? Stay awake."

"Don't wanna go to sleep," Steve tells her, eyes still screwed shut. "Wanna look at you."

Isabel can't help the chuckle that rises in her throat. "You do that sweetie. Look at me." Steve opens his eyes obediently, staring straight at Isabel. "Buck, make sure he doesn't go to sleep. His body wants to sleep so it can heal, but we need him awake for now. Otherwise it's too hard to move him."

She grabs her canteen of purified water which dangles from her belt and pours it over the cuts and burns, the cool water sizzling slightly as it touches the burns, which are still extremely hot to the touch. She can't reach all of the burns though, Steve's uniform still hanging from his shoulders over his collar bones.

"I need to get his shirt and armour completely off," she tells the boys, grunting as she tries to remove it from his shoulders. Stark grabs the material and pulls as Bucky lifts Steve's head, which is surprisingly heavy to Bucky's weak-feeling arms, Steve a dead weight on the ground.

Morita eventually makes his way over to help. Isabel begins to carefully clean out the cuts with a cloth, removing the small pieces of metal and dirt and glass she finds embedded in the skin. Howard and Bucky point out little specks she misses, some of them only visible in a certain glint of morning light. Morita wipes the cuts as much as he can until their canteens run out of water. The cuts are bright red gashes, clean of their dried blood now, but they still look horrendous. They most likely aren't deep enough to be fatal, even to someone without the super soldier serum. Still, they're severe enough to leak a fair amount of blood, the edges of the wounds building up a layer of congealed blood as Isabel works to clean them.

She tries to thread the needle quickly, her hands slightly shaky, and she can't get the silk threaded. Morita takes it from her and threads it with stable hands before giving it back, nodding to her supportively. Isabel leans close to Steve's chest to see properly. Each gash requires between ten and fifteen individual stitches. She pierces the skin, pulls it across the gash, pokes it through the skin on the other side, slips the needle off the thread, and expertly ties the stitch together, handing it back to Morita to thread again. The gashes slowly close up as she works her way along them. She ignores the salty, coppery smell of the blood and sweat that she is so used to being a nurse, getting lost in the task of sewing up the wounds. It's a long process, the slow way to stitch wounds, but it ensures that the scars form neat, straight lines, if they even scar at all.

"This will test his healing factor," Stark notes, watching with his face screwed up as Morita holds the skin of Steve's chest together for Isabel to sew. "We better make sure we document all of this."

"Hate to break it to you, Stark, but I don't think the serum is the first thing on her mind right now," Morita answers as Isabel sits back to shake the cramp from her hand.

To his credit, Steve doesn't move an inch or even flinch, despite how much the stitching must pinch and the cuts must throb and the burns must sting. He keeps his eyes on Isabel or on Bucky as he was told to, the latter keeping him awake by talking to him. Bucky says something about that time when Steve got his nose broken, thanks the Lord he should recover quicker so he can get a date. Every now and then Steve mumbles something quietly back to Bucky in response, not wanting to distract Isabel, his chest rumbling underneath her hands. He still looks dazed and out of it, like he hasn't slept in a good week. It seems to take him longer to process what's being said to him, his thoughts sluggish. He belatedly laughs at something Bucky says, coughy and shallow.

Isabel finishes the final suture, sitting upright again. Her back aches from leaning over, her hand still cramped. She pushes down her embarrassment that she was basically laying over him to reach the top of his chest.

"How you doin', honey?" Steve asks her from the ground, smiling dopily at her.

"Good. Your cuts are all clean. Now we just need to wrap your burns," Isabel replies.

"I'm so proud of you, you're doin' so well," Steve tells her sincerely, voice slurred.

Isabel feels a surge of affection for him, even though his behaviour is only caused by his slightly hallucinogenic, sleep-induced state. She reaches toward him to cup his cheek, smiling down at him. The burn on his right cheek, which was hardly as severe as those on his body, is already healing, a large red mark remaining rather than a blistered burn. The large bruise on his forehead has blossomed fully in a bright purple welt, though Isabel fears he could have a concussion. She makes a mental note to not allow him to sleep lying flat.

Steve hums, smiling at her like a loyal golden retriever or something. He reaches a weak arm up and rubs a clumsy finger over the crease between her eyebrows made by her frown, then looks up at Bucky. "My girl's so beautiful."

Bucky laughs. "I can't wait to tell everyone about this."

Isabel shakes her head at the two, looking back at Steve's injuries. The burns themselves look the same, but there isn't a lot she can do for them. Large chunks of the skin are gone, leaving only a charred black remainder. If Steve had been in a hospital, they probably would have done a skin graph by taking some of the undamaged skin from elsewhere on his body to patch it up. Isabel has neither the skills nor the tools to do so, especially not out here in the wilderness. She just hopes it will all grow back without interference.

Her and Morita spread antiseptic on the angry burns and then smother them in petroleum jelly to keep them moisturised before taping a row of gauze over the gashes and burns. They'll put bandages over the wounds when they're finished his back, Isabel decides, calculating if they haves enough left to wrap a few times around Steve's broad chest.

"Okay, now his back," Isabel says, sitting back for a second to survey her work.

Bucky, Stark and Morita shuffle around and help her lift Steve, trying to roll him over onto his side. They can't roll him onto his stomach because it will make his newly sewed cuts dirty and risk infection, if Steve can even get infections. After a few minutes of shoving and nudging, Isabel mentally swearing like a sailor and Bucky swearing aloud, they get Steve rolled onto his side, Bucky propping him up to hold him in place. Steve is extremely heavy, particularly when he offers little assistance.

The burns on his back are not as bad as those on his chest. Clearly the fire didn't manage to spread underneath his clothes to his back, except for a patch of raw skin around his neck, and another on his lower back near another scrape in the material. Isabel quickly spreads antiseptic and petroleum jelly onto the burns before taping more gauze over the small areas.

She then puts her arm under Steve's shoulders, trying to haul him up into a sitting position. Steve attempts to help, though he's rather weak and almost asleep, and Bucky's final burst of energy gets Steve sitting upright. Stark and Bucky lift one of Steve's arms each as Isabel and Morita work quickly to wrap the bandages around his wide torso, under his armpits, and across his collarbones, hiding the gauze and red skin from sight.

It looks significantly better once Steve is cleaned up. Isabel quickly wipes some of the dried blood from his arms and stomach where it has spread and wipes the sweat from his brow.

"All finished, love," she tells Steve, wary of how British her newest pet name sounds. She's been hanging out with Peggy too much.

Steve smiles groggily and then puckers his lips, pointing his head to where he thinks Isabel is. Isabel divulges him by leaning forward, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and avoiding the small split healing on his lip.

"You can go to sleep now, if you want," Isabel allows. "As long as you have no more injuries?"

"No, no more injuries," Steve tells her, his eyes closed. "Maybe a few broken ribs, but… M'okay."

"Uh, Steve–"

But Steve isn't listening and isn't staying awake. There's nothing she can do for ribs anyway. Steve falls backwards again, a snore escaping his lips. Bucky and Morita catch him, lowering him to the ground and resting his head gently on the stack of packs Stark has stacked as a makeshift pillow pile to keep him upright for his possible concussion.

Bucky laughs at Steve's antics, shaking his head. "If only Hydra could see big tough Captain America puckering his lips for a kiss from his gal. What would they say?"

"I'm not sure. It would certainly surprise them," Isabel laughs. She feels her adrenaline rush wearing off, her own eyes feeling extremely droopy. "I might need a sleep myself," she notes, looking on longingly at Steve's sleeping form.

"Not yet. Everyone's been looked at except you," Morita tells her, dragging the medical kit closer to them as they kneel on the ground beside Steve's sleeping form. He quickly cleaning the cuts on her brow and cheek. "You did well today. You feelin' okay?"

"Yeah," Isabel says truthfully, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Just tired and sore."

"Join the club, everyone is," Morita assures her. He notes the rather bad bruise on her elbow, almost black now, but other than that, she's fine. "Okay, you have my permission to sleep," Morita allows her jokingly, stepping away to clean up the medicine kit.

Isabel looks around quickly, seeing that almost everyone is fast asleep except Falsworth, Morita and Bucky. Everyone's adrenaline rush seems to have worn off, and their injuries, no matter how small, are draining their energy.

"Have a nap," Bucky assures Isabel, watching as her eyes droop. "Falsworth and I will keep watch. We'll keep moving through the afternoon to the rendezvous point."

Isabel takes notice of the black bags under Bucky's eyes and the stiff way in which he holds himself, most likely sore from the fall, but before she can argue that he probably needs sleep more than she does, she all but collapses on the ground next to Steve, the world turning black.

* * *

Isabel jerks awake to a noise a few hours later. The sun above them has moved across the sky, almost setting over the tree line. The air is significantly colder than earlier in the day, the absence of the sun casting them in gloomy shadows projected by the trees. She takes a second to lay silently, listening carefully for the noise again, but the world is eerily silent, except for the rustling of the trees and birds above.

She goes to move and sit up, and freezes, pain flooding her body as her muscles stiffen and refuse to move. She takes a deep, painful breath, her elbow screaming as she leans on it and her ribs protesting from the movement. She looks around to make sure none of the men are watching, lifting the hem of her shirt. The skin of her stomach is splattered with black and yellow bruising from hitting the branches, and taking deep breaths causes a stabbing pain in her side. She hopes the ribs are only bruised, not fractured or broken. Either way, she's in for a few weeks of pain.

She forces herself upright, grunting in pain, and looks around the campsite. Steve, Dernier, Dugan, Jones and Morita are all napping still, peaceful expressions on their faces. Dugan has another syrette attached to his collar, meaning Morita must have administered another dose whilst he was asleep, and Dernier still has Falsworth's flask gripped in his limp hand. She realises quickly that Falsworth and her brother are nowhere to be seen. She quickly scans the tree line, seeing no sight of them.

"Bucky?" She calls quietly, hoping her brother will hear her without having to raise her voice loud enough to attract any unwanted visitors.

In response behind her, she hears another noise, the same one that had woken her up. The noise of a twig snapping. She turns around slowly, staring into the forest behind her and meeting two eyes, looking out at her from between the brush. She jumps backward, away from the gunmetal blue eyes that seem to be sizing her up, calculating her importance. She looks to the left and sees another pair of eyes staring at her, and a face attached to it. And another further down. And just in front of all these faces is the end of a rifle pointing out from the bushes, directly at the members of the Howling Commandos. They're surrounded, by Hydra presumably, unless they've been found by one of the Axis army units.

She discreetly kicks Steve in the leg with her boot, not taking her eyes off the gun pointed at her. Steve mumbles beside her in his sleep, his words unintelligible, but doesn't wake up. She kicks him again, a little harder, and his eyes snap open. He frowns up at her with confusion and tiredness, and Isabel looks at him out the corner of her eyes, directing his attention toward the tree line with just the slightest nod of her head. Even through his grogginess and the pain, Steve immediately sees the faces and guns staring at them from all sides. Despite the immense pain he must be feeling all over, he grabs the shield from the ground beside him and throws it into the bushes, taking out two of the unrecognisable faces with one hit, the shield flying back into his hands. The men yell as the shield hits their faces, and the commotion wakes the other Commandos, who jump up despite their injuries with their guns raised.

However, they don't get very far. The enemy surrounding them suddenly shoot, small darts embedding themselves in the necks or arms of the Commandos. Isabel feels the pinch in her neck and the flood of a cool liquid entering her veins. She immediately feels drowsy again, falling to the ground at the same time as the others, her vision immediately swimming before her eyes close and she doesn't remember anything else.

Steve manages to fight the tranquillisers. He quickly surveys the scene and notices Bucky and Monty are missing, presumably already taken prisoner. He shoots his own pistol and throws the shield at the invading men as they inch closer to him, closing in on him. Finally, as the tenth tranquilliser dart makes contact with Steve's neck, he can't stay awake any longer, falling to the ground and facing Isabel's already sleeping form. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open as she takes deep breathes, in a deep sleep.

Steve's second last thought is that he can't let them get Isabel. It's a terrifying thought that sends adrenaline and fear through his veins, but there's nothing he can physically do. He can't move or talk or fight them off, can only watch as one of the agents picks Isabel up off the ground easily, as though she were a feather, the metal of the man's Hydra pin gleaming in the dull orange light of sunset.

Once he calms down a little and Isabel has been carried away, Steve's very last thought has to do with the two distinct muffled screams and yells he can now hear coming from the woods. He wonders whether they belong to his friends, to Bucky and Monty, and then the world goes silent.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all! Thanks so much for sticking with me this far! It's been a ride and so has this chapter! Lots of emotions packed into a few thousands words. I hope you all enjoyed it. I thought I'd just make a few notes about some of the elements in this chapter.

I did a bit of research for this. I found that yes, it is possible for a plane to lose both engines and glide for multiple miles, depending on the size of the plane and its altitude when the engines failed. However, if a plane is repeatedly hit by a barrage from below, it's inevitable that gliding would not be possible, especially with a hole in the side of the plane. The plane flying toward Greece also would have been flying fairly low in comparison to commercial airplanes, so they wouldn't have been able to glide for long anyway. As for the parachuting out of the plane together, this is possible, even with only a single parachute. Most tandem parachutes are made larger and strong than typical single-person parachutes, but it is still possible to share, providing the people are not morbidly overweight. The wing loading is doubled, and so the descent speed and glide speed will increase. The type of landing will depending on the canopy the people are descending into. A gentle and forgiving canopy may require a rough parachute landing roll and bruises, whilst an unforgiving area may end in sprained joints and even broken bones. Nevertheless, the people will survive. Normally, the passengers would join themselves to the same parachute, but with the time frame of this emergency landing, I doubted the Commandos would have had the time to do so. It is possible to jump simply holding onto one another.

I hope you all enjoyed. There will be even more action next chapter and a reappearance by a certain Madame. Stay tuned! Please keep reviewing, your kind words are fuel to my creative fire!


	44. Chapter 43

**43.**

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Steve comes to slowly from a dreamless blackness he doesn't remember how he fell into. He feels groggy, like he's been asleep for days, and he just can't make his eyes open. He' weak, something he hasn't felt physically in months. His head aches, pounding loudly in his ears. It all reminds him of how he used to be, before the serum when he was the sickly kid from Brooklyn.

For a moment he wonders whether it had all been a dream; if his mind has been conjuring up some grand fantasy of a healthy and successful version of himself and now he's awake in his bed in Brooklyn and he's imagined the whole thing. He prays to God that isn't true, because if it is, the dream had been cruelly surreal. It had taken all of his greatest desires and merged them together into a new life that completely changed him. He starts to worry, to panic. But then he takes a moment to stop and think. Even though his bed had always been hard, it was never this hard and cold and constricting. And he's not entirely sure he has the imagination to dream up an alternate life for himself with such vivacity.

No, it can't have been a dream, it all felt too real to be a dream. Either way, he just wants to go back to sleep and to not think about it.

It takes him a second or two to work out why he can't move his arms and legs, or his torso for that matter. He struggles, twisting, but he barely moves. Not only does it make his chest and torso ache immensely, it sparks an intense worry within him, his mind whirling with questions and thoughts. He frowns, using as much strength as he can to try to burst out of whatever is holding him, but it's no use. He goes still again, exhausted.

When the pounding in his ears slowly subsides, Steve realises he can hear voices, low and mumbling around him. He strains to listen, determining they're all familiar, and one is noticeably feminine.

Steve forces his eyes open, an immense feat, and blinks in the low light. He's sitting upright, leaning back against the cold concrete wall. Looking down, he sees he's being strapped down by a clunky metal contraption that engulfs his entire chest and stomach, pinning his arms against his sides and his body to the concrete wall. His feet have also been strapped down, bolted to the floor by metal shackles. He struggles against the metal, but he's still too weak and it doesn't even budge.

He blinks as he looks around, the room he's in becoming clearer as the fog over his eyes diminishes. The room is muggy and damp, like he's been locked up in some underground cellar. He's sitting in a jail cell, a row of thick metal bars in front of him. The room is made up of two rows of jail cells of all the same size, not even containing a toilet, a hallway running between the two sides.

He squints and frowns, noticing that multiple faces are peering over at him from the other cells. It takes him another moment to recognise one of the faces right across from him. Staring at him with widened, nervous eyes, is Bucky.

"Buck?" He grits out, his voice crackled.

Bucky's face lights up in relief now that Steve's awake, moving, and talking. "Steve? Thank God! We thought you weren't ever going to wake up."

"They gave you enough tranquiliser to put down an elephant," Falsworth adds, looking at Steve worriedly from the cell he shares with Bucky.

Steve thinks back, and slowly it all comes back to him. He remembers now - he'd been injured in the fall from the plane, met back up with the Commandos. He'd been treated for his injuries and gone to sleep, though he knows he most likely fell unconscious. And then… everything's a little blurry after that. He remembers a kick to his shin waking him from his sleep, Isabel's frightened face looming over his, her eyes flicking toward the forest. He remembers seeing the men surrounding them, hearing Bucky and Falsworth screaming somewhere far off in the woods, the twinge as the many darts hit his body, and then… Black. He'd gone under, he'd been the last to fall victim to the tranquiliser. But that only left him with more questions. Where have they been taken and by who? And did they all make it? Where is Isabel?

...Isabel?

"I'm here, Stevie," Isabel replies quietly, and Steve realises he'd said her name aloud.

He turns to his right at the sound of her voice, his eyes landing on her small frame leaning against the bars of the cell right next to him, only a few meters from him. Steve feels instant relief, his eyes scanning her for any injuries, but she looks okay.

"You 'kay?" Steve slurs.

"I'm fine. I'm more worried about you," she answers. "That amount of transquiliser, it would have killed the average man. They could have killed you."

"You've been out for hours," Bucky adds worriedly.

"Good thing 'm not average 'nymore."

He slowly feels himself becoming less groggy, more aware of his surroundings. He looks around, seeing that Morita, Stark and Dernier are in the other cell beside Bucky's, Dernier still with his torso bandaged. Dugan and Jones are in the cell beside him with Isabel, Dugan's wrist looking painful in its brace.

"Where are we?" Steve asks, frowning.

He could have a pretty good guess at where. When they'd been taken however long ago that was, they had to have only been a few miles from the factory they'd been intending to invade. Hydra had probably been drawn to their position from the wreckage of their burning plane, or perhaps they'd been the ones to shoot them down in the first place. That seems more likely, that Hydra had set up posts around the factory vicinity to shoot down any passing Allied planes, particularly the Commandos', who they must be expecting by now. Likely, Hydra followed their entire trek from the plane wreckage to their campsite.

Somewhere in the distance, Steve can hear the rapid German speech of a guard. It sounds like it's coming from the other side of the thick metal door at the end of the hallway.

"Our best guess is that we're inside the factory we were heading to, but I'm sure that's what you're already thinking. Monty and I were awake for most of the transport, we only moved for a few miles. Resisting them was pretty futile," Bucky replies and Steve immediately takes notice of the large welt on the side of his face, likely from the butt of a rifle. "They carried all of you when you were unconscious but made Monty and I walk. Stripped us all of our weapons when we came in and then locked us all up. Lost my damn rifle again."

"You were right, Cap. Getting in wasn't the problem," Dugan mutters. "It'll be getting out that will be the struggle."

"We didn't even have to put in much effort to get here, just had to parachute out of a burning plane," Morita says jovially. "They carried us the rest of the way in while we had a nice little nap."

"But now we're all locked up like fish in a barrel," Jones replies.

"Good lookin' fish," Morita says with eyebrows raised.

"How can you be joking around right now?" Howard asks in astonishment, eyes flicking between the men as though he were watching a tennis match. He isn't used to the men's humour while out on missions. It keeps their dire situations lighter and helps them cope.

Steve looks at all his men and shakes his head.

He eyes the only exit, the metal door, and then glances back down to his restraints; he's got no foreseeable plan for breaking free. If he wasn't so weak, maybe he could break free, but his injuries are taking a massive toll on his stamina and he hasn't the strength. He shuffles around, trying to get an arm free, but the contraption only seems to lock him in tighter, cutting off his air supply and making it harder to breathe. He freezes, feeling the sharp stab as the cold metal presses tight against his healing burns. After a few minutes of behaving, the machine makes a whirring sound and he hears a low gust of air as it slowly loosens off again, but only slightly so that Steve can breathe. It stays tight for a while, like its warning him that he has to behave. Steve isn't sure whether the machine is acting this way on its own or controlled by an outside force, someone watching them through a camera system. Steve looks around for a camera and spots one in the far corner, pointed right at him.

"Steve?" Isabel speaks up quietly, and Steve's focus snaps to her. "How are your injuries?" She asks quietly.

Her eyes, however, are locked on the camera Steve has just noticed. She speaks in a whisper, not wanting to make it obvious to whoever is listening and watching that the Captain is injured and therefore possibly not at his highest levels of fighting ability. She doesn't want to point out any potential weaknesses, not that they wouldn't have already been seen when Hydra picked them up in the field. Surely, they saw the injuries and bandages on his bare chest, though they may not have realised the extent.

Steve looks down at his chest, only visible to him past the metal restraint. Most of the bandages have come undone and fallen off in all of the scuffle, meaning he can see most of the wounds. The burns have calmed reasonably, no longer blistered and raw. The skin has started to grow back, crawling across the wounds and hiding the once charred muscle. The cuts that Isabel sewed together have healed neatly, thick lines of red that stretch across his chest. Within a few days they'll turn white and then disappear altogether. Though, it wouldn't hurt for the stitches to be removed soon. They're tight and uncomfortable and pulling on his skin.

"Okay, I think," Steve notes. "They're healing. Don't hurt as much anymore. Isn't bandaged anymore though."

"I don't think it will get infected," Isabel promises. She looks down at her hands, then back up to Steve. "How are we going to get out?"

"I was just getting to that," Steve admits. "We'll find a way. Don't worry."

* * *

Hours pass before anyone even pokes their head inside the cellblock to check on the prisoners. A guard opens the metal door with a loud clang, peering inside with his gun raised, face hidden behind a black mask. He looks them all up and down with a threatening anonymity before slamming the door shut again.

"Well, he was friendly," Dugan notes.

The room grows colder as night presumably descends again, until eventually they can all see the mists of their breath in front of their faces. The concrete floor and walls seem to hold the cold air within them and pressing against them causes a shiver to go up everyone's spines. It's not like they have a choice, though - there aren't any beds for them to lie in or any blankets provided. They huddle a little further into their coats and toward each other, teeth chattering. After a few hours Dugan grabs Isabel and sits her under his arm, tucking her into the warmth of his side. She leans silently against the crook of his shoulder, her arms holding her legs up to her chest.

When the lights above them shut off with a loud bang, they're all plummeted into pitch darkness. Even when their eyes adjust, they can still barely see further than an inch in front of their faces. There aren't any windows or skylights to let any moonlight in. Just a pitch black.

No one brings any food or any water and none of them are ever relieved to go to the toilet. There isn't even a bucket provided for them. As embarrassing as it once would have been for the men, the Commandos just let it go - there's no use trying to hold it and they know it. But Isabel holds it. She just can't bring herself to do that in front of the men. Eventually it starts to hurt but she ignores it. She just can't, even if they're sitting in the pitch darkness.

Their stomachs grumble loudly, echoing through the room like a chorus. Along with the chattering of their teeth, the shakiness of their breath, and the sounds of the factory bustling outside, the room is far from silent.

Eventually, almost everyone manages to ignore their aches, pains and grumbling bellies long enough to fall asleep. Isabel, however, can't make herself close her eyes. Not only is her bladder protesting sharply, she hates the dark – worked that much out on their first mission – and the knowledge that any one of the people outside could walk through the door at any time is unnerving. She wonders what will happen to them now that they've been captured, and their main weapon is incapacitated with his restraints. Had Steve been able to move and uninjured, they probably would have broken free hours ago, most likely would never have been captured in the first place.

She can't help but think of all the terrible experiences Bucky explained to her, what Hydra had done to him in the factory before Steve saved him. There's a whole number of people working for Hydra who want all of their heads and want to see them suffer, the Red Skull and Madame Hydra among them. God only knows what they'll do to them all in here. And all of them are just sitting ducks, unable to escape, waiting to be picked off and experimented on or killed. The only question remaining is who will be first.

Isabel finds herself watching in the direction of the door, waiting with a racing heart for someone to enter.

"Belle, you gotta sleep," she hears Steve say from her left, making her jump. She can't see him, but she assumed he'd gone to sleep long ago with the others since he's been so silent.

Dugan makes a noise in his sleep, somewhere between a snort and a cough, and shifts. Isabel takes the opportunity to unwind herself from under Dugan's arm and moves closer to Steve, close to the bars of the cell and away from Dugan so she doesn't wake him.

"Can't," she replies quietly, looking to where she thinks Steve is. "I'm too… too…"

"Scared?" Steve whispers.

Isabel nods. Then, she realises Steve probably can't see her. Or maybe he can, she isn't sure. "Yeah," she whispers.

"Me too," Steve eventually admits.

"You're never scared," Isabel mutters with a scoff of disbelief. "You aren't scared of anything."

"That's not true," Steve whispers. "Everyone gets scared."

"You hide it well." Isabel pauses. "What do you get scared of?"

"Well, being scared means you have something to lose. I'm scared of losing lots of things, but not to do with me," Steve says carefully. "Mainly, I get scared for you – that you're gonna get hurt or something's going to happen to you."

"You don't have to be scared for me, Steve," Isabel tells him quietly.

"I am. I can't help it. I love you too much to lose you," Steve replies with conviction, his voice gentle but firm.

Isabel looks down at her crossed legs, her hands bunched into fists in her lap to warm her freezing fingers. She remembers what she'd meant to tell Steve on the plane and when she'd thought she'd lost him in the explosion. All those things she needs to tell him. There's no better time than now, she reasons, when they aren't entirely sure what the next hour will bring.

"Stevie, I gotta tell you something – something I should have told you a long time ago," Isabel whispers.

"Okay," Steve says curiously.

"I told you part of it when you emerged from the woods, but that wasn't all." Isabel pauses again, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Go on, Belle. You know you can tell me anything," Steve pushes, his voice calming and inviting.

Isabel takes a deep breath. "Steve, I feel like I have to explain to you. Some of the things I did in the past, some of my actions, they prevented us from having more time together. We could have been happy so much earlier, way back in Brooklyn before any of this ever happened. It's my fault, and I'm sorry."

"Belle, nothing about us is your fault. There isn't anything to apologise for," Steve protests.

"Yes, there is."

"Well, then I don't understand," Steve admits.

Isabel takes a deep breath, loud and echoing and a little shaky. "Danny. You gotta know that I never loved him. I never really wanted to be with him. I knew in my heart and soul it was wrong, but I tried so hard to make it work because I thought that was what I _should_ want. I knew it would have made my parents happy and he offered me any life I ever could have wanted. He promised to free me from poverty, and that was kind of inviting for a while, enough that I fooled myself that that was what I wanted, that I wanted to get away from my life in Brooklyn. But when I really thought about it, when Bucky made me open my eyes, I realised that wasn't what I wanted in the slightest. I loved my life and I never wanted to leave it. I didn't want financial wealth, I wanted emotional wealth, and I wasn't ever going to get that with Danny."

"Belle, if you're just saying this because you think that I'll be upset that you had feelings for someone else, don't. You are allowed to have loved people before you were with me. It's okay that I'm not your first love," Steve tells her, his voice both soft and stern at once.

"But you are, Steve," Isabel argues. She can't see Steve, but she can imagine his facial expression, the pinched one with the furrowed brow and lips set in a line. "I loved you even when I was with Danny, but I never properly realised it and I think that's because I was scared, because I never thought that you'd ever want to be with me. You always spoke about finding "the one" and I never in a million years imagined you could have meant me. In all honesty, I thought you were too good for me, too pure; that a girl who went steady with a man for his money should never be allowed to taint someone like you. But apparently, I was wrong about that, just like I've been wrong about a lot of things," Isabel whispers.

"I pined over you for years, but I was the same, I didn't think I'd be good enough for you," Steve admits in a low voice. "Poor Bucky heard about it every day and he tried for years to push us together, but we were both too stubborn to give in. And stupid, as he lovingly supplied. I didn't think you'd want to be with someone who couldn't provide for you the way he should have. I know it's different now, that I'm healthy and I make a living, despite how dangerous my work is. But there's still a part of me, deep down, that thinks you might leave me because the worry just isn't worth it."

"I'd never," Isabel protests. "I told you that I loved you, _so_ much, and I mean it. I love every part of you with everything I have to offer. With my whole heart."

She scoots closer to the bars, reaching a hand through them, hoping to be able to touch Steve. Her hand falls on his shoulder and she fumbles her way up to his face, cupping his cheek. She feels him smile as he leans into her touch.

"I love you too, Belle. I hope you know that I do, and I hope I showed it to you long before I ever said it."

"You do, and I do know."

"I think our main problem so far has been a lack of communication," Steve laughs.

"Well I wasn't going to tell you any of this then because I was too worried that you'd reject me."

"You know I'd never do that, Belle," Steve tells her.

"I know that now, but back then, I was just too paranoid. I was scared. I didn't want to lose the friendship we had because I tried to take a one-sided affection further. I never considered the fact that our great friendship would be the perfect foundation for a romantic relationship."

"I was worried, too," Steve admits. "Even when Bucky reassured me you were sweet on me, I still couldn't take the plunge."

Isabel takes a deep breath. "There's more. Just don't laugh, okay?"

"What is it?"

"I think it runs even deeper than all this," Isabel whispers. "I… You know that I'm superstitious, and I-I think we're soulmates, Steve. I think fate drew us together, made sure we'd meet. I think we were meant to be. And you may not think that and that's fine, call me crazy if you want. But I think I've loved you for almost as long as I've known you, or at least as long as I've known what love is. Even when you were a poor and sickly artist it felt like my heart was going to explode when I looked at you. It's like that now, still. I don't love you for what you look like, though I'll admit, it's always been an added bonus. I love you for you, for what's on the inside. I love you because you respect and love in return, you're loyal and determined and sweet and funny and caring, and you light a fire inside me that no one else ever has. I-I can't even find the words, Stevie. You give me purpose and love and life. You're my light in the darkness, just like that soothsayer said all those years ago."

"Isabel, I can't even… I don't even know what to say," Steve whispers.

Isabel feels a wetness on her hand, and she realises Steve's crying. She wipes away the tears with gentle movements, feeling blindly in the dark.

"You don't have to say anything," Isabel promises. "I just had to tell you how I felt. You had to know. I couldn't almost lose you again without telling you."

"Hey, you aren't going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere. I've gotten so used to you, being able to kiss you and hug you whenever I want rather than just imagining it, that going even one day without it feels like an eternity. I can't function without you, Belle. I've never been able to. And honestly, I don't think I ever want to again," Steve promises.

He turns his head to press a lingering kiss to the inside of her palm, the only part of her he can reach. It leaves a tingle against Isabel's skin and ignites a fire in Steve's heart.

"We're gonna be okay, Belle," Steve promises. "We're gonna get out, and then I'm gonna tell you all this every day, for as long as we both live."

"I believe you," Isabel says with a small smile.

They're going to get out. He's going to hold her and kiss her again, and he's going to find his own words to explain how he loves her.

* * *

The loud bang of the metal door slamming open jolts all of the Commandos awake, all of them sitting upright with a start, searching instinctively around them for their now-confiscated weapons. They squint against the faint light that washes over them from the doorway, still barely enough to see anything in front of them.

Isabel's eyes fly open and she finds that she's fallen asleep pressed up against the bars with her arm still stretched through to cup Steve's cheek. She yanks her arm back quickly, aching from being held upright for the last few hours, her face numbed from being pressed against the cold metal. Steve's already awake at the sounds, staring straight toward the exit. Isabel follows his gaze, eyes widening.

Heavy footsteps echo loudly through the room as a man walks down the hallway, leather boots on concrete, flanked by two other figures. The ominous black shadows, indecipherable through the darkness, come to a stop just before the cells. At a snap of the front man's fingers the lights above them all illuminate, causing the Commandos to blink against the sudden change.

When their eyes adjust, they find themselves looking up at the Red Skull and Madame Hydra, Doctor Armin Zola stood behind them. Bucky makes a strange noise at the sight of Zola, a strangled cry of fear that he tries to hide behind a cough. Zola smirks at him, awfully confident when his subject is locked up in a cage for him to observe.

"That was a dramatic entrance," they hear Dugan mutter, but no one laughs.

Red Skull walks up to Steve's cell and peers in, his red hands clasping the bars. "Hello, Captain!" He greets rather jovially.

"Schmidt," Steve hisses, glaring up from his seated spot on the ground.

"How strange it is to see you without your traditional stars and stripes. When my men brought you in, I almost didn't recognise you, looking so… plain." Schmidt accepts a wad of material from Madame Hydra. "Don't worry, we have it here for you. Looks like it's been through a bit of hell. I understand you've grown quite attached to it, not that I can see why."

Schmidt passes the charred ruins of Steve's uniform through the bars with a grimace, the cloth landing on the ground by Steve's feet.

"Sentimental, I guess," Steve sneers.

"What a shame you can't put it on. Along with the shield, it really completes the look. Without it you really are…" Schmidt pauses to think of the right word, "…nothing. Just a kid in way over his head."

"Steve's more than the uniform and the shield," Isabel finds herself hissing at the Red Skull, standing from her spot on the floor before Dugan or Jones can grab her, coming up to the bars. She ignores the sounds of everyone shouting at her, fights off Dugan who grabs her waist to drag her away. "You'll never be half the man he is. You–"

Dugan's hand slaps over Isabel's mouth and he drags her backward toward the wall. "Calm down. This isn't some damn back alley fight and Steve isn't five-foot-two anymore. He doesn't need you to stand up for him," Dugan hisses, looking worriedly up at the Red Skull, who's staring contemplatively at Isabel.

Madame Hydra waltzes up to the cell, smiling in at Isabel. "Ah, the little girlfriend. You've got quite the mouth on you."

"You are acquainted?" Schmidt asks curiously.

"Yes, we met once in the Czechoslovakia factory. Was just as much of a shock for me to see the Commandos have recruited a woman as it was for them when I removed my own mask. Though, I never got her name. So, who are you, Fraulein?"

Immediately, Bucky and the other Commandos shake their heads furiously at Isabel. Howard looks incredible worried and out of his depth, sitting quietly in the corner of his cell and staring wide-eyed at the back of Schmidt's red skull. Isabel looks at them and then back to Madame Hydra, glaring at her and pursing her lips. She isn't going to tell them anything.

Madame Hydra raises an eyebrow at the brunette American girl. "Fine, be like that," she says sarcastically. "It was all a formality, after all. We already know who you are. Those comic books produced in America are rather informative, as is your social security information. Would you like to do the honours, Doctor Zola?"

Zola nods, flipping through a file he holds in his hands. Behind him, Falsworth sees that every page has information about every one of the Commandos. Morita, Dugan, Jones, himself. Steve's pages are longer, but Bucky's even more so, the pages riddled with Zola's scrawled handwriting. Zola stops at a particular page, Isabel's army-issued photograph at the top right and below that, a blurry image of her walking with the Commandos inside a Hydra factory from a security camera.

"Isabel Elisabeth Barnes," he reads, "born December twenty-third, nineteen-twenty-one. Registered nurse now employed by the United States Army. Second child of George and Winifred Barnes; younger sister of James Buchanan Barnes, who I believe we have in this very room as well," he says, smiling back at Bucky who forces himself not to shrink away. "We did our research. We know all of your workplaces, schools, movements in Brooklyn, about your journey on the USO Tour, your movement around Europe. We know what training the SSR has provided you and how Sergeant Barnes attempted to somewhat train you in weaponry at the gun range in the SSR base. And not just for you, Miss Barnes, but for everyone in this room. Do you want me to continue?"

Isabel's jaw drops, and she stares at their captors who seemingly know everything about her. Her hands tremble visible and Dugan takes it in his to hide her fear. They can't bear for the Red Skull to see any of them weak if they want any chance of getting out alive.

"I think that's plenty," Steve growls, but the Hydra followers pay him no mind, preoccupied by the only other woman in their midst.

"Oh, one more interesting piece of information. The girl's Jewish, or half. I suppose Sergeant Barnes is as well," Zola adds with a triumphant smirk.

Red Skull's eyebrows rise on his forehead in surprise. "Now that is interesting. A Jewish girl caught by the Germans amidst the war that prosecutes her own kind. If I were Adolf, I'd probably be much more fascinated." Red Skull walks a little closer to Isabel's cell. "Lucky for you, Hydra isn't fixated on the blue-eyed utopia like the Nazis are. I couldn't really care less what religion or nationality you are. I have my own agenda and I care more about the work you are doing, and the work you can do for me."

"I won't do anything for you," Isabel argues, but the Red Skull waves her away, silencing her.

"Give it time," he says off-handedly, and no one is quite sure what to expect from that.

"You know, we caught your little confessions on our security tapes last night. It was a great source of entertainment for us. How sweet and pathetic you both are," Madame Hydra says mockingly, sneering at Isabel and Steve. Isabel's cheeks heat up immediately. "Don't be embarrassed. It was nice that you two got to express your love before you say your goodbyes."

"What goodbyes?" Steve asks carefully.

"Honestly, Captain. I feel your intelligence is a little over-hyped," Schmidt mocks Steve. "Hydra's current task is not only to win the war and take over the modern world, but also to take down the great Captain America. You are the only thing standing between us and world domination. The initial plan was a kill shot - clean, efficient. We take you out, we have a clear path toward our goal. But then we managed to shoot down your plane and found you and your men injured in the woods. We simply couldn't pass up the opportunity and our plans have adjusted accordingly. Your strategic mind, your brute strength; I feel Hydra can make more efficient use of your abilities than the US Army ever could. You could lead us an army of similarly enhanced soldiers. You could be the fist of Hydra. We certainly wouldn't have you performing like a… dancing monkey."

"I'll never work for you. I'd rather die," Steve spits.

"You may not be given a choice," Red Skull smirks. "None of you will. I think Sergeant Barnes can attest to that." Schmidt then turns toward the door, shouting, "Bring it in."

Seconds later, three men enter, dragging behind them a heavy-looking metal chair. It has pads on it above the head that look as though they clamp down on the temples, and straps to hold down the subject's arms and legs to the chair. The men plug it into the power socket and it sparks to life, emitting a hum of electricity. Bucky goes extremely pale, his eyes widening, and he looks as though he might cry. Isabel immediately knows what it is. It's the chair, the chair they stuck Bucky in to wipe his memories. Suddenly she feels a little sick.

"We could stick the Captain in the chair first to wipe his memories and shape him into our personal weapon," Red Skull deliberates. "But even as he is injured, he's rather strong and he may be able to overpower us. And his enhanced mind… We have no guarantee that the chair will be able to successfully penetrate its forces without multiple attempts. But I believe we may have found the Captain's Achilles heel, so to speak. I believe we can break him down until he has nothing else to fight for anymore and will turn himself over to us willingly. You were silly, Captain. You brought your weakness right to us." Red Skull walks back up to the bars of Isabel's cell, smiling down at her. "What purpose would the Captain have in his life if we were to take away his one true love?"

"No!" Bucky screams immediately before anyone else, even Steve, can wrap their heads around the Skull's words. "Don't you dare fucking touch her, you sick son of a bitch. She's an innocent. She's only a medic. Don't you lay a sick hand on her!"

"Sergeant Barnes, mind your language. There are ladies in our presence," Red Skull admonishes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill her. I'm just going to help her along toward the _correct_ mindset."

Bucky glares at Schmidt and swears some more, much louder, drowning out whatever Steve is yelling. Bucky rattles the bars to his cell trying to reach them. If he could just close his hands around the man's neck, he could squeeze just hard enough until the Red Skull's face goes blue and he doesn't take another breath–

"You will be next, Sergeant," Zola promises, leaning awfully close to Bucky and making him jump away. "You may have escaped our clutches when we first met and you may not be first for experimentation now, but your time will come. The Captain will watch all of you be tortured and turned over to our side. By that time, he will have nothing left to fight for and he will join the Hydra cause."

"Cap will still fight for freedom, Zola. Even if all of us are gone, he'll still fight against Hydra. That's where you guys have got it all wrong," Falsworth sneers, reaching his hands through the bars with a sudden movement and only just missing grabbing Zola's collar, the small man jumping to his feet and moving away. Zola stops beside Madame Hydra, who's preoccupied with their plan.

Madame Hydra raises a pistol into the cell, aimed at Dugan and Jones. "If either of you interfere with this, I won't hesitate to end your measly lives in a second. I can make it painful if you wish."

A guard walks into the room with a set of keys and unlocks the door to Isabel, Dugan and Jones' cell, pushing it open. Isabel jumps away, pressing herself against the back wall beside Dugan, who puts a protective arm in front of her. Madame Hydra cocks her pistol at Dugan, raising an eyebrow. Everyone's yelling, Bucky and Steve the loudest. But their words have turned into a jumble of shouts and the noise echoes through the cells in a mass of chaos.

Isabel can't focus on anything except the fact she doesn't want anyone to get hurt. She gives in, knowing there's no way any of them can escape this. Isabel forces Dugan's arm away from her, not wanting to see the man shot in the name of protecting her. She knows it will be a feeble effort anyway.

"I'll be okay," Isabel promises Dugan, and Dugan steps away slightly to honour her decision.

"No, please! Don't touch her! I'm begging you, take me instead! Please, take me and spare her. Take me!" Steve pleads from beside them, struggling ferociously against his restraints.

"I don't trade lives, Captain," Red Skull admonishes, looking unimpressed. "I chose whose life I want and I take it, should they serve me a purpose. Your time will come, just be patient and wait your turn," Red Skull tells him as though Steve were a child.

"Please, Belle's qualm isn't with you! You can't do this. You can't."

Schmidt walks into the cell and grabs Isabel's wrist in a crushing grip. "I can, Captain, and I will."

Then, he proceeds to drags Isabel out of the cell. Isabel struggles against him, screaming loudly and crying, hitting at his arm with all her strength and digging her feet into the ground. She flails as much as she can, kicking and screaming. She won't go without a fight, and she's going to make it as hard for the man as she possible can. Red Skull grunts and pulls harder, struggling to guide her out despite his increased strength.

The room is so loud with Isabel, Steve, Bucky and all of the Commandos screaming and yelling and trading insults. Madame Hydra looks frazzled by the noise, her head darting around as she listens to everyone's screams. After a few frantic seconds, she turns her gun on Bucky, who's closest to her, to shut up his continuous flow of swears and threats.

Dugan and Jones pounce on the moment the woman's pistol isn't trained on them. They fly forward in synchronization and knock into the back of the Red Skull, careful to avoid hitting Isabel, who's wrist is tight in his grasp. The force is enough to surprise Schmidt and send the three men to the ground with a painful thud. Schmidt lets go of Isabel's wrist as he falls, leaving her standing at the opened entrance to her cell, looking down at the tousling men on the floor with wide eyes.

"Isabel, run!" Steve screams, and Isabel snaps into gear.

She turns and runs down the hallway toward the exit, narrowly escaping Madame Hydra's hand that grasps for the back of her jacket. Madame Hydra doesn't chase straight away, torn between tracking down Isabel and helping the Red Skull from his attackers, who pummel him into the ground with all their strength. Her gun is aimed at the three men, but she can't get a clear shot on Dugan or Jones as they wrestle and flail with the Skull. She can't risk a fatal shot to Schmidt.

Isabel pushes Zola out of the way as she hurries past, sending him flying into the bars of Bucky's cage. Falsworth immediately grabs Zola and gets his arm around the little man's neck, choking him into unconsciousness as Bucky screams after Isabel to escape and to get help.

Isabel sprints out of the open door, her legs carrying her as fast as they can. She's breathing hard, her hands trembling violently, but she forces herself to run. She has no idea where she's going, sprinting down hallway after hallway, turn after turn, acutely aware of the multiple footsteps now following her. She passes many guards, all of whom seem to take a second to catch on to who she is before they try to take her down. By the time they do, she's already turned the corner, their bullets bouncing off the rock walls of the factory.

The sound of gunfire only makes her run faster. She can't afford to get shot. These men will only shoot fatally, and she won't stand a chance. She ducks her head down as Bucky taught her, tucks herself into a ball and _runs_. Isabel gets on a straight, sticking to the side wall as she emerges onto what she assumes is the main factory floor with hundreds of Hydra members working on the weaponry. None of them look up from their work to watch the petite brunette sprint past them in the shadows.

Attached to the factory floor is a massive garage with hundreds of army trucks inside it, all of them loading and unloading weapons and goods for the factory. At the very end, Isabel sees the main entrance to the factory, the only exit, an escape from the mountain. She sees the brightness of the day outside, the trees in the far distance – she just has to get past the patrolled fence line and lose the Hydra guards that run right on her tail and she'll find her freedom within the mountain ranges.

Isabel sneaks a glance behind her to find that Madame Hydra is now following her with her pistol raised, gaining on her quickly. She must be enhanced, _has_ to be, or at least she's just a professional athlete of some sort. Isabel's never been a track star, but she's always been fairly fit and flexible, and running was always a natural action for her. And yet, Madame Hydra gains on her easily, her lengthy strides pummelling the concrete floor.

Isabel turns back around and runs faster, impossibly, feeling the adrenaline race through her system. She gets halfway across the factory floor to the garaged area that will provide protection from the bullets, when suddenly there's a loud echoing bang, different and hollower than all the others, and Isabel's falling face first into the concrete, slamming into the ground and skidding to a stop. It's then that she feels it - the burning, debilitating pain in the back of her thigh, a sluggish bullet embedded into the muscle. Isabel screams and screams, clutching her leg and curling in on herself, her brain fogging up from the pain. She can feel the warm trickle of blood down her leg, soaking her olive-green pants.

Madame Hydra's footsteps approach and then she's standing over Isabel menacingly, a predator over her prey.

"Please! Please! Don't do this," Isabel tries.

Madame Hydra takes no bar of it. She hauls Isabel to her feet. Isabel can't even bear to stand on her leg, to even put pressure on it, but Madame Hydra makes her. She drags Isabel quickly back through the factory, and Isabel is forced to run along behind her or fall to the ground again. The Hydra workers look on as the girl is led back to the prisoner cells, screaming both in pain and in fear. With a bark from their superior they get back to work.

"Madame Hydra, please. You don't have to do this, this isn't right. Please! Ophelia, please!" Isabel tries again, and she gets no response from the woman until she mentions her name.

Madame Hydra stops with a stomp of rage and flies around, holding Isabel tightly by her shoulders and sneering so close to Isabel's face their noses are almost touching. "How do you know that name?" Madame Hydra spits, her eyes so angry they almost burn red.

"W-we r-researched you, Ophelia Sarkissian," Isabel informs her through the gritting of her teeth from the pain, realising she's struck a nerve with the lieutenant. Madame Hydra jolts even more at the mention of her full name.

"I don't go by that name anymore," Ophelia warns. "I am only Madame Hydra."

"You can't just be M-Madame Hydra," Isabel argues, her voice pleading. "You're a p-person. And people don't do this to each other. Please! Hydra is e-evil, the S-Skull is evil, but I don't think you are pure evil. There has to be some g-good in you, and if there is, please, find it within y-yourself to spare us. If you're doing this for the Red Skull, he's only using you. He doesn't love yo–"

Madame Hydra shakes Isabel, hard, making her head backward and forward painfully and cutting off her words. "I do nothing for anyone but myself. That is what you who are in love do not understand. I work alongside the Red Skull for personal and mutual gain, in all aspects of our lives. It is a relationship built on mutual benefit and nothing more. There is no presence of love or emotion whatsoever. But you wouldn't understand that; you live through your heart, not your mind and logic." Madame Hydra looks almost as though she pities Isabel for feeling normal human emotion toward others. She clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother. "Now, stop your incessant rambling, Frauline," she warns. "You will say nothing else."

Madame Hydra begins to walk again, dragging an exhausted Isabel. "But–"

Isabel is cut off when Ophelia's strong fist connects with her cheek. It sends her to the ground, landing in a heap with a shout of shock.

"I said no more," Madame Hydra spits as she hauls Isabel's shaking body up again.

Isabel can't have been gone for more than five minutes. As they approach the metal door to the cells again, Isabel can hear the men inside yelling and she sees that none of them have moved considerably. Doctor Zola is on the ground in front of Falsworth, sitting up slowly, red faced and breathing heavily. He's moved just out of reach of the men, sitting on the cold concrete. Red Skull has removed himself from the cell and successfully locked Dugan and Jones back up, both of them sporting red blotches on their faces that hadn't been there before, most likely from Schmidt's fist.

The Commandos spot Isabel and yell louder, shouting insults and swears at Madame Hydra and the Red Skull, pleading with them to leave Isabel be. Isabel feels incredibly weak, the leg causing her more pain than she ever could have imagined. Nevertheless, she makes one last ditch effort to stop what she knows is coming, to try to stop them from putting her in the chair. She grabs onto the frame of the door as they pass through and holds on tight, her knuckles turning white. Madame Hydra huffs and tugs on her waist, trying to pry her fingers away. The woman is extremely strong, her hands leaving bruises on Isabel's skin.

"No! Please!" Isabel pleads, hardly breathing from the pain and from the pressure on her waist.

With one large tug, Madame Hydra loosens Isabel's grip on the metal door frame, and she falls face first to the floor again, landing hard. Isabel doesn't move when she hits the ground, the pain all too much. She'd be content to just lie there forever and let the world take her, but Madame Hydra has other plans. The woman picks Isabel up and half carries, half drags her to the metal chair, shoving her into it. She straps down Isabel's arms and legs roughly, pulling the straps tight enough to cut off the blood flow. There's a thin trail of blood all the way across the factory to the chair.

"I must admit, you're more trouble than we thought you'd be, Miss Barnes," Red Skull says from where he still stands between Steve and Bucky's cells. "Admittedly, you earned a bullet to the leg for it. How far did she make it, Madame?"

"Half way to the truck bay, Herr Schmidt."

"Not bad for an innocent," Schmidt says approvingly, echoing Bucky's previous comment. He then catches sight of Doctor Zola still sitting on the floor, rubbing his red throat with a frown. "Honestly, Doctor Zola, get up. The girl's been injured more than you and she's still putting up a fight. Start up the machine. I want to see how far she makes it in this before she bleeds out."

"Yes, Herr Schmidt," Zola says obediently, forcing himself to get up and approach the chair.

Isabel looks at him with pleading eyes, begging for him not to do this to her, but the pleading goes unnoticed. Instead, Zola pulls a notepad and pen from the pocket of his lab coat, preparing to take notes on his next human experiment.

The noise in the room only gets alarmingly louder as the machine whirrs to life around Isabel. She can just make out Steve and Bucky's pleading screams over the noise. Her eyes flick to Bucky, who looks positively terrified with tears streaming down his cheeks, and then to Steve. Steve's thrashing in his restraints, eyes wide and hopeless, but there's an anger on his features Isabel's never seen before. He flicks his leg with a force he seems to pull from mid-air and the leg restraint flies off, clattering into the bars. Isabel has no idea where he found the energy, he's been so weak since the plane crash–

The metal pads close down over Isabel's temples, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and the machine's whirring gets louder. Zola shoves something between Isabel's teeth – a mouth guard, she realises – and seconds later the electricity flows. Isabel's whole body seems to jolt, and it feels like her veins are on fire. The electricity is so powerful, all she can hear is the crackling in her ears. It even drowns out her own screams. It rattles her brain and her memories, making everything blurred. She sees a million different images seemingly at once, flashes that show on the back of her screwed up eyelids like a film projected at the cinema. It's so much all at once that it's overwhelming. All of the emotions attached to the memories also come along with the images and she feels her heart flip with the emotional rollercoaster. She sees her family and her home in Brooklyn, various patients she's had over the years, Steve beat up in an alleyway, the forests outside that they trek through, the Commandos laughing around a smouldering camp fire, Steve's pocket watch sitting firmly in her hand, Bucky writing a letter to home by the light of the campfire, Steve's face so close to hers as they dance, Steve's hand firm on her lower back, smiling down at her–

On the edges of Isabel's consciousness, she's aware of the ruckus. She hears an almighty male roar that echoes in her mind, followed by the rip of metal, a shredding sound like she's never heard before. She hears the scatter of footsteps, the metal door slamming shut. Another metal clang of a cell door sliding open. But she can't concentrate, can't work out what's going on. The machine is too strong, it's overpowering her mind, making her see all sorts of things she'd once thought she'd forgotten. Memories and conversations, people's faces, people's blood on her hands. She seems to see her entire life all at once, an intricate mosaic of memories–

Then, as soon as the pain starts, it stops and the memories flash away. Rather abruptly, too, like a screen being turned off. Isabel slumps in the chair despite the pads not rising again, holding her head upright. She pants for laboured breath, her forehead sheen with sweat. She can't breathe, can't hear, can't see. Everything is just white. Pain, she realises. It's the blinding of the pain. She's going into shock, she must be. She's never experienced it before, but they spoke about it in nursing school. Pain or shock, and you saw white. Anger, you saw red. She's seeing both, a swirling of colour across her eyes that slowly fades away, revealing reality before her again.

Then suddenly, the pads are ripped away from her temples and Isabel feels two hands on either side of her face. She flinches and tries to jump away but freezes when she realises their touch is warm and familiar. She looks up, blinking away the white, and finds Steve's face only inches from her own, his brows furrowed. His mouth is moving, he's talking to her, but she can't hear him. She looks past him, finding that the room is empty again apart from the Commandos still locked in their cells. Steve's restraints have been broken, the metal torn into chunks in his escape. The door to his cell has been kicked open, the lock broken on the ground, and suddenly, all those sounds she'd heard make sense. Steve broke out of his restraint to save her, most likely from a pure adrenaline rush. Red Skull, Madame Hydra, Zola – they were too cowardly to face the angered Captain and they bolted.

Isabel's eyes snap back to Steve and he's still talking to her, his eyes tearing up. He looks beside himself, heartbroken, like he's begging with her. She makes herself concentrate and Steve's worried voice finally becomes clear.

"Isabel, baby? Please, look at me. Belle? Oh God, please tell me you remember me," Steve's saying.

He wipes a tear away from Isabel's cheek. She doesn't even realise she's crying until he does so, and then the tears flow rapidly, soaking her face and Steve's hands.

Steve swivels around to face Bucky, petrified. "Oh God, Buck, she doesn't remember. She must be terrified."

Bucky is crying too, looking terrified and broken in his cell, a puddle of emotion on the floor. "I didn't think it worked that fast," Bucky cries. "They must have changed it."

Steve turns back to Isabel, running his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away the fast-falling tears. "Isabel, please. It's Steve, _your_ Steve, please remember me."

Isabel meets his eyes, her own wide and wet. Her mind is moving so slow and sluggish. She forces herself to speak, to make her mouth move. Steve's upset; he thinks she doesn't remember. But she does, she _does_ – "S-Steve?"

Steve's eyes widen in surprise, and then he smiles in relief, hanging his head. Isabel thinks she sees more tears in his eyes than before. He's crying for her. He thought he lost her, she realises.

"Oh, thank God," he breathes, leaning forward and resting his head on her shoulder, his arms encircling her carefully. "I thought I lost you, I thought you forgot me."

"N-no," Isabel manages. "N-not g-going anywhere."

"That's my girl," Steve smiles, pulling away and running a loving thumb over her cheekbone.

He quickly rips off the restraints on her arms and legs, freeing her, but she's much too weak to even move. She stays slumped in the chair, still breathing deeply, her heart beating erratically in her chest. For a moment, she worries she might even have a heart attack. It would be possible, considering the amount of electricity she just endured. But she takes another second to just concentrate and soon her heart seems to calm down, ending its excited jig in her chest. She can breathe easier, but the pain in her thigh is just getting worse, the metal of the chair making it sting, ache, burn.

"Where are they? Schmidt, Zola…" She grits out.

"They escaped as soon as they saw I was about the break free. I was so angry, Belle, they knew if I got my hands on them I'd kill them. Were out of here in a flash and closed the door behind them, didn't even stop to turn this chair off," Steve tells her.

Isabel nods, relief washing over her. They're gone, but that also doesn't mean they won't be back. They'll run into them again somewhere else. Isabel takes a shaky breath and swallows down the pain. "Gave up their plan pretty quick," she grits out.

"I think they realised it wasn't going to work."

Isabel nods again, before looking past Steve to her brother in his cell. He's pale and his eyes are red – he's been crying and screaming for her for what feels like an eternity, watching his sister suffer the same torture he did at the hands of Doctor Zola and the Red Skull. "Bucky?"

"I'm here, doll," Bucky promises in a shaky voice.

Steve gets up quickly and retrieves his shield from the corner by the metal door where the guards had left it. He approaches the door to Bucky's cell and brings the shield down on the lock, breaking it instantly. Bucky slams the door open and rushes past Steve straight to Isabel.

"Oh my god, Belle," he whispers, his hands hovering over her shoulder like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. He eventually gives in and grabs her up in a tight hug, mindful of her injuries.

"Fuck, that hurt," she tells Bucky, making her brother chuckle despite the circumstances.

"Told you it did," Bucky says, his voice a little emotionless.

"I-I'm sorry," Isabel apologises, knowing that seeing that happen to her would have been like torture for her brother.

"No, don't you apologise," Bucky berates.

He grabs Isabel by the cheeks and looks into her eyes, making sure she's coherent. That machine really messes with the mind, and he has no idea how she's going to react to it. He also needs to make sure she listens, that she knows what's happened to her isn't her fault. He spent far too long thinking his own torture had been a product of his behaviour, and it took him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he was an innocent too, just a soldier fighting for his country who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.

"You and Steve are just as bad as each other, always apologising for things that aren't your fault."

"We're made of the same stuff," Isabel answers.

"Yeah, you are."

Steve frees the rest of the Commandos and Howard, who all gather together in the hallway, giving Isabel the space to gather her wits again. They look on with worry, fear, and guilt – they'd made it their intent to protect the woman they'd grown to love as a sister, but how could they when they were all incapacitated at once? They know it isn't their fault, that they all chose to become part of the Howling Commandos, even Isabel, but the guilt still plays on them.

Steve kneels back down in front of her again beside Bucky. "You doin' okay, Belle?"

"M-my leg, it burns," Isabel answers. "Got s-shot."

"I know, Morita's going to look at it once we get out, okay? Right now, we haven't got any medical supplies or any weapons besides the shield. We need to escape, they're probably going to blow the factory to the ground again before we can get out. I just need you to hang in there," Steve says, holding Isabel's hand tightly. It shakes violently, probably from fear and blood loss, and her hand is worryingly cold in Steve's. He rubs a hand over hers for a second to try to warm it up.

Isabel nods at that. Steve easily picks her up out of the chair, mindful of her injuries, and carries her bridal style over to the corner of the room, laying her carefully on the cold concrete floor.

"We're going to get out, I promise, but I can hear them on the other side of the door. They're waiting for us to emerge. We're going to take them all down and then send this mountain to the ground."

"Okay," Isabel agrees.

Howard comes over and sits beside her, keeping her upright. He puts his arm over her shoulders and holds her trembling body against him, his warmth immediately soaking into her. "I'll stay with her, Steve. I'm no good a fighter, I'll just be in the way."

"Keep her awake," Steve tells Howard, nodding thankfully to the inventor.

"I-I need some material," Isabel says, her hands covered in blood as she fumbles with the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Bucky rips a strip of fabric from the bottom of his t-shirt, handing it to Isabel. She ties it around her leg as a tourniquet above the bullet wound, pulling it as tight as she can. When she can't pull tight enough, her arms weak, Howard helps, looking a little green as he tugs the ends of the once-white material together and ties it as Isabel weakly instructs.

Steve hurries to his cell, picking up his uniform shirt and pulling it on for added protection. It's damaged beyond repair, burnt and ripped, but it's better than nothing.

Seconds later, he's kicking the metal door open and bursting back out into the factory, met by gunfire from hundreds of Hydra goons. He raises the shield and ducks, the other Commandos hurrying for cover behind the concrete walls on either side of the door. Steve runs forward into the fray, managing to snag a weapon from a soldier he sends to the ground. He throws it back to Bucky, who easily catches it and starts taking down the soldiers from behind the wall, picking them off one by one.

Steve continues through the fray, knocking down soldier after soldier and handing the weapons he collects back to the Commandos. Eventually everyone is rearmed, even Isabel and Stark in the corner, and the large crowd of Hydra soldiers gets smaller and smaller, falling victim to Steve's shield and the bullets of their own guns. Isabel can hear the clanging of the shield's metal against bones, the loud blow of guns as they fire back and forth at each other, and often, the sound of a body hitting the floor. It takes close to a half-hour for them to make a big enough dent that the Hydra soldiers realise they're done for. Some of them seem to realise earlier than others that they'll never be a match for Captain America and make a run for it, but they're picked off by Bucky's keen eye through the scope of the gun, leaving a trail of bodies leading away from the scene.

As the clock ticks by, the amount of blood on the floor beneath Isabel's leg grows and her body weakens. She slumps against Howard, and only his soothing voice in her ear can keep her awake.

Dugan takes out the final man still surrounding them, a bullet to the chest that sends the masked goon down with a yelp. He takes a few final gurgled breaths, coughs up a mouthful of blood, and goes still with frightened, unblinking eyes. Then suddenly the factory falls silent – the fray of bullets halts and the sounds of screaming and running stop, too.

Steve turns back to his men, who hesitantly emerge from the protection on each side of the door frame. "Let's get out of here," Steve says, walking back into the room. He's sweating from exertion, but he's got no injuries further than the ones already healing, the burns hot and aching beneath his shirt. Steve surveys his men, but all of them escaped the barrage unscathed. "Keep on the lookout, there's a good chance there's still many more soldiers somewhere in the factory; that can't have been all of them. Jones, tell Dernier to keep an eye out for anything he can fashion some bombs out of. Once we're in the clear, we're going to blow this factory beyond repair."

"That's if Schmidt doesn't decide to do it first. I'm sure he just watched you take down his final factory's defence," Jones says before obediently repeating the command to Dernier. The Frenchman looks a little pained by the injury to his side but excited that he gets to demolition an entire mountain.

Steve comes back over to Isabel. She's leaning back against Stark's shoulder, extremely pale, a sweat sheen her forehead, her eyes closed as unconsciousness threatens to take over. Her eyebrows are furrowed in pain, and Stark's rubbing a comforting arm on her shoulder and speaking to her in dulled tones. Steve knows she must be utterly exhausted. Along with her injuries from the plane crash, there are bruises forming over her temples from the machine's pads and on her wrists from where she'd hit the floor, and a pool of blood has formed underneath her leg, crawling away from her across the concrete.

"The machine, it's their only prototype," Bucky tells them, stepping up toward Steve.

"Destroy it," Isabel whispers, her voice hoarse.

Steve looks back at the metal chair and then to Isabel. He knows that if she weren't shot, she'd do it herself, can see the twitch of her hand as she manages to glare at it, can see the fury and fear in her eyes.

"I'll do it. After all, we need it done properly," Stark says jokingly but utterly missing any form of humour. He gets up carefully without jostling Isabel and approaches the metal contraption. He fiddles with the circuit board at the back, investigating it and committing its functions to memory before unplugging almost every cord, throwing the cords to the side of the room, and leaving a gaping hole in the back of the chair. "Stick something explosive in there and you'll never see the chair again. It will blow it from the inside, out," he tells them.

Dernier and Gabe run out into the factory in search of explosive materials and return quickly with arms full of handheld bombs, stolen from the belts of the fallen soldiers just outside the room. Dernier shoves a few inside the emptied circuit board and spends a short while rigging up some sort of remote that will cause them to detonate when Dernier decides they're out of the vicinity. Considering the strength of the explosives, which are likely fuelled by the Tesseract energy, there's a good chance the explosion could also wipe out this area of the factory with it.

Steve lifts Isabel from the ground again, apologising and hushing her when she whimpers in pain, and prepares to carry her from the factory and give the shield to someone else to carry.

"No, you c-can't carry me. You gotta get us out," Isabel protests. Her teeth are chattering now as fever takes over. She tries weakly to push away from Steve to be put down.

"You can't walk, Belle," Steve protests, holding her a little tighter.

"And you can't fight while holding me," she argues, as stubborn as ever despite the way unconsciousness clings to her mind. "Y-you promised you'd get us o-out."

"I'll carry her," Bucky offers with a look of steely determination, holding out his empty arms.

Steve nods and carefully slides Isabel over into Bucky's grasp, taking Bucky's newly claimed rifle from his hand. Isabel whimpers again, quieter this time, her brows furrowing. Bucky grips her tightly, holding under her knees and her back, tucking her against him. He's warm and Isabel leans into him, holding on tightly around his neck.

"You're much lighter than Morita," Bucky tells her with a chuckle, making Isabel hiccup out a laugh as well. "I got you, Isabel, we're gonna be okay. Just stay with us, okay doll?"

Isabel nods in reply, scrunching her eyes shut. She's just so tired. She tries to stay awake for them - she wants to see their epic escape from the factory, wants to see the damned chair explode into a million pieces, wants to watch from a distance as the mountain implodes, destroying every inch of Hydra property within it. But the blackness closes in before she can stop it, and she just can't keep them open any longer.

* * *

Isabel wakes up slowly, her consciousness taking its time to return. Truthfully, she wants to go back to sleep, but she needs to see.

She's immediately aware of her throbbing headache and the terrible pain in her leg. She groans and lifts her hand to hold her forehead, flinching when her fingers come in contact with the bruised areas over her temples. She blinks her eyes open, frowning into the light, and is surprised to see she's looking up at the tarped roof of an army truck.

Isabel flies upward into a sitting position, looking around wildly. The last thing she remembers is Steve slipping her into Bucky's arms, Bucky starting to carry her as they escaped the factory. But they aren't in the factory anymore, they aren't surrounded by those concreted walls deep within the mountain. They're in a truck. Where are they? Who's they, anyway? Did Hydra get her again? Did–

"Woah, Belle, take it easy. You're okay," she hears Steve say, and turns to see him sitting right beside her. He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and gently pushes her back down, resting her head in his lap. He puts his hand gently on her forehead, smiling sadly down at her. "We got out, we're okay. We're heading back to base."

Isabel nods and breathes a sigh of immense relief. She's laying on the bench in the bed of the truck along one wall. She looks down toward her feet to see Morita sitting at the other end of their bench, dabbing some more disinfectant on the bullet wound on the back of her thigh. It's all bandaged up though, and she presumes he got the bullet out and successfully stitched up the wound, and now he's just starving off infection. She's grateful but embarrassed, considering that to reach the wound they probably had to take off her pants or rip a hole in them and that's so inappropriate for them to see that, but decides she can't make herself worry about it. She's just so tired.

"The factory…?" Isabel asks vaguely.

"Schmidt set it to blow once we took down the group outside the cells. He, Madame Hydra and Zola escaped before we could even find them. We only just got out before the whole mountain fell on top of us," Steve tells her, running a hand over her hair.

Isabel nods at that, feeling extremely drowsy. She sees Falsworth, Dugan, Howard and Bucky sitting on the bench opposite, looking at her worriedly. Dernier and Jones must be in the front driving.

"You didn't let me drive," she finds herself telling Steve, glaring up at him.

"Well, I think we need to add another condition to that promise. You need to be conscious and have full use of all of your limbs."

"Fair enough," Isabel says, earning a chuckle from Steve.

Isabel reaches a hand over the gap and reaches for Bucky's hand. He takes it and squeezes, smiling at her in reassurance.

"You can go back to sleep if you're tired, Belle," Steve says, noting the way her eyes droop heavily. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

Isabel turns to look back up at him, smiling a little dopily from being sleepy. She closes her eyes and let's sleep take her away again, take her away from the pain. Within seconds, her hand goes limp in Bucky's and she can't feel the pull and tug of Morita working on her damaged leg anymore.


	45. Chapter 44

**44.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **May 6th, 1944**

Isabel comes back to consciousness slowly, feeling as though she's been drinking. She tries to open her eyes but slams them shut again immediately, the lights above her almost blinding. Her thoughts are a little tangled, a little slow, and it takes her an awfully long time to realise that the dull beeping sound is a heart rate monitor behind her. It takes her another few seconds to realise that she's lying in a bed. It's soft, comfortable, like a cloud beneath her, and it feels almost heavenly. She just wants to snuggle back down under the warmth of the blankets and fall back asleep. She tries, tells her brain to switch off again, but it won't.

She cracks her eyes open to have a look around, blinking against the bright lights. She recognises the room – she's back in the infirmary in the London base. She's spent a lot of time here the last few months and she knows it like the back of her hand. The walls are a beige colour, the floors shiny linoleum, the sink in the corner polished stainless steel. The beeping of the monitors, the sound of running water, the smell of disinfectant and bleach. If she didn't know better, she'd say she was back in the hospital in Brooklyn, working another shift. It's comforting to be back, it feels like coming home. So safe and warm.

She hears a noise beside her and looks to her left, frowning. In the hospital bed a few metres away next to her lies Dum Dum Dugan, his arm in a cast and sling. In the bed beyond him is Dernier, his torso wrapped from the wound of the tree branch. Dernier's asleep, his mouth open as he snores, but Dugan's looking at Isabel with a worried frown.

"Dugan?" Isabel forces out, trying to make the sound work when her throat feels like it's about to split in two, dry as the desert.

"Hey, Baby Barnes," Dugan replies with a relieved smirk. "You've been sleeping so long you're even more beautiful than ever before. Sleepin' beauty."

Isabel frowns at him in confusion, a little dopey from what she now realises wasn't alcohol, but pain medication. "Don't be stupid, Dum Dum. How long was I out?"

"Nearly two days," Dugan tells her. "Doctor said you were exhausted. You've had a lot of medication. Lost a lot of blood, too."

"Not surprised," Isabel says, licking her lips. "I did fall out of a plane, before I was shot and tortured."

Dugan laughs at her sarcastic expression. "Humour, that's good. Doesn't matter if it's dark."

"You gotta laugh or you'll cry," Isabel agrees.

She's only then aware of the weight on the bed beside her right hand. She looks down, seeing a familiar head of blonde hair on the bed beside her hand. Steve's sitting in a chair beside her, slumped forward onto the bed as he sleeps.

"Poor Cap thought you were gonna die the entire time. He was beside himself. Serge was the only one who could calm him down," Isabel hears Dugan tell her. "He hasn't left your side once since we got ourselves into that truck and drove away from the burning factory, hasn't taken his eyes off you. This is the first time he's actually slept, though I doubt he meant for it to happen."

"Steve," Isabel murmurs quietly, feeling her heart constrict with love for the man.

She lifts her hand, an immense task because she feels so weak, and runs her fingers through his dirty hair. He obviously hasn't showered since the Commandos arrived back at the base, still wearing his damaged uniform. Steve shifts and murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep but doesn't stir awake.

"Steve," Isabel repeats a little louder.

Steve snaps upright, his eyes wide as he searches toward the door for the source of what woke him, completely missing her in the bed.

"On your left," Isabel tells him, the way her and Bucky used to when they were coming up behind sickly Steve so that he wouldn't get frightened by their sudden appearance. His left ear was always his worst, hearing wise.

Steve swivels back around and his eyes land on Isabel. He smiles, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Belle," he breathes, clasping her hand in both of his.

"Hi," Isabel says with a dopey smile.

"Hi," Steve chuckles. "God, I thought you weren't ever going to wake up."

"Was tempting, this bed's awful comfy," Isabel jokes, smiling at him. "Just kidding. Wasn't plannin' on ever leavin' you."

"Good, because I don't know what I'd do without you," Steve tells her sincerely, cupping her cheek with his hand.

Steve pats her limp hair down, pushing it away from her face. She's still pale, dark black bags under her blue-grey eyes, her lips a little chapped from dehydration. She has a few light cuts and scratches, one above her eyebrow and another on her cheek, the one on her cheek covered with a small bandage. Her ribs were confirmed to be bruised, not that there's much the doctors can do for that. There's a bandage wrapped around her torso to keep her posture straight, but not much else can be done. She's also pretty bruised elsewhere, a large welt on her forehead, a few on her wrists and elbows. He knows some of these are from the fall from the plane, others from her tousle with Madame Hydra. Steve feels a bit of guilt run through him that he couldn't save her quicker.

They look into each other's eyes for a while, both of their blue and grey orbs holding a darkness that was never there before. Steve feels like his heart's wrenching in his chest – Isabel, once so innocent and pure, tainted forever by the war, by Hydra, by the damned Red Skull. Steve had come to terms long ago that he'd never be the same after they got back home ( _if we got back home_ ), but not Isabel. He isn't ready for Isabel to be hurt, doesn't think he ever would be anyway. He never intended for it to happen this way. Now Steve knows a little bit of what it was like for Bucky, who's spent the last few years of his life sacrificing himself to make sure Steve and Isabel were protected from the horrors of the world, only to have them dragged into everything anyway.

"Am I okay?" Isabel eventually asks, her voice quiet and careful.

Steve's been sick long enough to know that the answer to that question feels a million miles away before it's given. The answer seems to take forever to come, rolling off the person's tongue like a dripping tap rather than a wave, the suspense enough to drive a person mad.

"You'll be fine, honey," Steve reassures, quickly but not too quickly, taking her tiny hand in his own. "Doctors said you're going to make a full recovery. The bullet didn't do any permanent damage, and everything else is relatively minor, just cuts and bruises. You'll be okay."

"W-what about my mind? Because they, you know…?"

Steve sighs, looking at her with his saddened baby blues. "Well, you haven't been awake, sweetie. Only you'll know if you're forgetting things. But I think you're okay – you're awake and talking and you know who everyone is. Bucky told me it took quite a few trips to the chair to do any damage to him."

"So, I'll be okay," Isabel deduces, letting out a breath of air. She looks immensely relieved, allowing herself to actually smile. "What about everyone else?"

"They're all fine, Belle. You did good out there," Steve promises.

"Frenchy's wound never even showed any signs of infection and my wrist was set perfectly back into place," Dugan tells her helpfully from his bed, lifting his arm to show her his wrist now in a cast.

"You can thank Morita for that," Isabel tells him in a hoarse voice. "I only told him what to do."

"Give yourself a little credit, Barnes Junior."

Isabel nods, turning back to Steve. She licks her lips again, swallowing to try to coat her throat. Steve pours her a glass of water. She tries to sit up to take a sip, but her ribs protest immediately, sending pain through her entire abdomen. She hisses and falls back down, which elicits a string of apologies from Steve despite it not being his fault. Isabel waves off his apologies and instead, Steve holds the glass up to her lips so that she can take a sip. She immediately feels better and tries to drain the entire glass, but Steve holds it away from her, only allowing her to sip while she frowns at him, her features darkened against her pale skin.

After that, Steve fusses over her like a mother hen, propping up her pillows and getting her an extra blanket when she gets cold. She feels a little self-conscious, only lying in the bed wearing a very thin, very short hospital gown with nothing underneath, not even a pair of underwear, but Steve keeps her covered in a pile of blankets and rarely drifts his eyes from her face, which makes her feel better.

Eventually he gets out a small wooden comb from the drawer of the bedside table and runs it through her hair, gently getting out all of the knots and tangles. She knows it really needs a wash, but she just can't bring herself to get up and go to the shower, feeling like it's hundreds of miles away when it's really only just across the room. She doesn't even know if she's allowed, whether she's cleared to put weight on her leg. She'll have to wait to see the doctor. Meanwhile, Steve's hands in her hair feel almost heavenly, a massage like she's never had before, and her hair feels slightly better when he lets it go, smooth and silky again against her face and shoulders.

"Cap, why don't you give me that kind of treatment?" Dugan cuts in after a few hours of aimlessly twiddling his thumbs, watching Steve run the comb through Isabel's dark locks.

"Sorry Dugan, I've only got time for one gal in my life and I sure as hell ain't going to pick one as rugged as you," Steve shoots back, not missing a beat.

Dugan barks out a laugh, slapping his leg with his uninjured arm. "You're a real cracker, Cap."

* * *

Later that day, the nurses come around to do their rounds. They treat Dernier, looking at the wound in his side with a critical eye, and deem him well enough to leave the infirmary. He packs up his stuff and gets changed, heading up to his room with a smile and a salute. Isabel waves goodbye to him, watching as he disappears from sight. He never really speaks much considering he doesn't understand much English and Isabel barely any French, but she likes him. He always listens, even if he doesn't understand, and he's just nice. He shows her pictures of his wife and child. She likes that.

The nurse spends her entire time with Dugan being flirted with, and she good-naturedly rolls her eyes at the soldier. She tells him he's free to leave as well, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He loiters around as she changes his bed sheets and packs away the equipment, before eventually Morita comes to find him and take him to the mess hall. He waves goodbye, promises he'll come and visit later, and leaves the infirmary.

Finally, Nurse Caroline makes her way to Isabel, giving her a sympathetic and understanding smile. "Hey, Isabel. How you feeling?"

"Hungry, tired, and my leg hurts," Isabel tells her truthfully, sighing.

"Not used to being on the other end of the stick, I see," Caroline says with a laugh. "The first few days are the worst, and luckily for you, you slept through a lot of it."

"Lucky me," Isabel mumbles, rubbing a hand across her forehead, a pain spiking just behind her eyes.

"I'll give you some more pain medication now, you're due for your next dose," she says.

"Speaking of medication, the Commandos' medic pack wasn't restocked properly," Isabel tells Nurse Caroline whilst she remembers. "They have omnopon and morphine in their kit, along with extra bandages and scalpels."

"Oh, I am so sorry," Caroline begins, babbling an apology. "Colonel Phillips has already had my head for it. Really, I am so sorry–"

"You're okay, everyone makes mistakes," Isabel waves her off, feeling guilty for bringing it up when she's clearly already been lectured by Phillips. "Just thought I'd let you know. We're all fine so it's no big deal."

"If you're sure?" Caroline asks.

"Of course," Isabel reassures, smiling at her colleague despite the pain.

Caroline nods before getting back to work, looking a little guilty and flustered. She inserts Isabel's medication into the IV bag hanging on the hook beside Isabel. While the medication starts to take effect and Isabel starts to feel a little dopey and a little sleepy again, Nurse Caroline tends to the few cuts and bruises, disinfecting them again and replacing the bandage on Isabel's cheek.

Then, she turns to Steve, who's been watching her work, smiling encouragingly. "Uh, Captain, if you'd like to step out, I need to check on the wound on Miss Barnes' leg."

"Of course," Steve says, standing with reddening cheeks. "I'll be right outside," he promises Isabel, stepping out and closing the thick brown curtain around Isabel's room. The bed immediately darkens a little, most of the light extinguished, and Caroline turns on the bedside light.

Isabel feels her chest tighten a bit as Steve leaves and she can't see him anymore, but she ignores it, pushes the lump of fear in her throat down. _He's just outside_ , she tells herself. She can even see his boot-clad feet from under the bottom of the curtain, pacing the small stretch of room he stands in.

Isabel looks up at Nurse Caroline and nods, confirming she's ready. She has a feeling her expression says otherwise. Nurse Caroline helps Isabel roll onto her side, lifts the covers and removes the bandage from the back of Isabel's leg. Isabel hugs the pillow tightly as Caroline pokes and prods the wound for a while, every touch feeling like a knife stabbing into her. She flinches and buries her face into the material of the flat pillow, clenching her teeth. Caroline quickly cleans and disinfects it before wrapping a clean bandage around Isabel's leg.

"It's healing nicely, no signs of infection," Caroline tells her. She helps Isabel roll back over and tucks the blankets back up over her hospital gown. "Morita stitched it up on the way back to camp. He did a good job of it too, it's neat. It will probably scar, but it won't be terribly noticeable."

"What about walking?" Isabel asks. "Surely that will be a bit impacted?"

"Yes, Doctor Lewis has written it all out in your charts. I'm sure he'll come and explain it to you at some point. My understanding is you'll be on crutches for a few weeks. It'll be a pain, but worth it in the long run."

"Okay," Isabel agrees.

She's actually relieved – crutches allow much more mobility than a wheelchair, which she'd been dreading would be part of her recovery. Steve probably would've had to carry her up all the stairs in the building. And that fact that the diagnosis comes from Lewis is comforting. The doctor works at a nearby hospital in London, but he comes to the base the offer his medical assistance when he's needed, on call twenty-four hours a day. Isabel's only met him a few times, but he was professional and friendly and extremely competent. She knows she's in good hands.

"When can I have a shower?" Isabel asks.

"You have to keep your leg elevated for tonight, no pressure on it whatsoever until day four. So, tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it. I'll help you. "

"Good, I probably smell a little," Isabel mumbles.

"You're fine," Caroline promises. "Until tomorrow, you just need to rest and not worry. I know it's hard being a patient, but you have lots of friends to keep you company. We denied them all entrance until you were awake and well enough to give your consent to visitors. Except the Captain, of course. No one tried to keep him away."

Caroline reopens the curtain, and Isabel sees Steve waiting patiently outside, twiddling his thumbs and smiling at people passing the main door to the infirmary.

"Uh, Caroline?" Isabel asks, eyeing Steve as she speaks. The nurse stops and turns, her eyebrows raised expectantly but a smile on her features. "Before you go, Captain Rogers has some injuries that need attending to."

Steve blushes as Caroline turns to face him, her eyebrow raised, unimpressed. "And why was I not informed of this, Captain?"

"I... forgot?" Steve tries. He sighs when she doesn't buy it. "I didn't see it as a priority," he eventually reiterates, but he punctuates the words by looking worriedly at Isabel.

"I'm okay, so now you're the priority," Isabel argues. "He was caught in an explosion and fell from a plane. He's got two major cuts along his chest, as well as some major burning. The bandages will need changing by now, I could see them through the rips in his uniform, and the wounds might need some sort of ointment depending on how they're healing."

Caroline nods. "If you'll lay down on the vacant bed, Captain-" Caroline says, pointing Steve toward the freshly made bed that Dernier vacated.

"No, it's okay. You can do it in the chair," Steve says, taking a seat in his chair and glaring a little at Isabel for putting the attention on him. Isabel only smirks back.

Caroline doesn't argue, leaving and returning a few minutes later with the equipment. Steve peels the top of his uniform off over his head with a grimace of pain and clenched teeth, a burst of pain like fire spreading across his chest when he lifts his arms. He puts the charred remains of his uniform over the arm of the chair, leaving him wrapped in thick bandages. The bandages Isabel had initially applied are gone, replaced by Morita sometime on the trip back to base.

Caroline moves to Steve's back, where Morita had pinned the end of the bandage, and un-clips it, winding the material around and around. The inner layers, pressed up against the skin, are soaking wet with both blood and that watery fluid, the final layer itself stuck to the wounds. Caroline pulls it gently, as though it were a stuck band-aid, and it may as well have been for the way it gripped on. She rips it off with a final yelp from Steve, taking a bit of the remaining dead skin with it.

Caroline looks a little sickened by the major wounds, but Isabel thinks it looks much better than it had when she'd treated them, so she doesn't blink an eye. She's rather grateful that they're looking much better than they had, for if they were still the same, she'd be worried they weren't going to heal at all. The large gashes across Steve's chest are still stitched tightly together by Isabel's handiwork in two neat lines. They're almost entirely healed, thick red scars that are turning a pale pink. The stitches could be removed if there was time – not that Caroline doesn't have the time in her schedule, but Steve will doubtfully stay put long enough without tending to Isabel.

The areas of skin that had been entirely missing before, revealing the muscle, have been covered with a thin layer of red skin that has grown over to hide the wound as it heals. The blistering has almost diminished completely, leaving only scarred, red welts in a swirled pattern, the burnt skin bright and shiny under the lights. As much as it is better, it's still a third-degree burn and still incredibly dangerous. For Steve to have not been looking after himself, to be dirty and not eating, it's a surprise he's even healing at all. He needs to keep his fluids and protein intake up in a hope to stay hydrated and strong or else the skin will never heal.

Caroline gets Steve a litre of water and tells him she expects him to drink it over the next hour, and then get another. Steve doesn't argue with her, especially not when Isabel nods her agreement, and downs one glass quickly. He hadn't realised how thirsty he'd been until he'd taken the first sip, so he downs another. Caroline then inserts an intravenous line into Steve's inner elbow, attaching a pouch with fluids containing electrolytes to help hydrate him again. The intravenous also has some antibiotics within it in case he develops an infection.

Caroline then works on the wounds as Steve sits back in the chair and grips the handles in discomfort. She removes any more of the dead skin and tissue from the burned area, but most of it was removed out in the field. She spreads antibiotic ointment on the burns carefully, wary of the way Steve winces when the burns are touched, the skin extremely sensitive. Once she's happy with the burns, and Isabel explains how bad they'd been in comparison, Caroline puts some pads over the burns and then wraps them again in clean bandages, hiding them from sight.

"All done," she says eventually, throwing the old, bloodied, dirty bandages in the bin. "I'll bring you some dinner. Both of you. And you need to eat it all," she tells them.

With that, Caroline gives Steve a new clean t-shirt, similar to the one he'd worn the day he endured the super-soldier experiment. She disconnects the intravenous line for a moment so Steve can pull the shirt over his head, careful not to jostle his wounds, and then she reattaches it. It's a little tight-fitting but it's better than a ripped uniform. When Caroline disappears to the mess hall, Steve settles more comfortably in his chair. Isabel immediately grabs his hand tightly in hers.

"You all good?" He asks.

"Don't act like you didn't hear," Isabel berates without any heat. "It's fine. It'll just leave a scar, is all."

Caroline returns a few minutes later and places a tray from the mess hall on the patient table that she positions over Isabel's legs. It's rather loaded with two large covered plates, enough for two people, but not enough for a super-soldier. Steve will likely still be starving.

"Try to eat, even if you don't feel like it," Caroline instructs. "All those medications don't mix well with an empty stomach, Isabel, and you've been on them for a few days now without food. I'm surprised you aren't sick yet."

Isabel slowly reaches up and lifts the cover off one of the plates, revealing a cheese sandwich, a banana, a small bowl of custard and a tub of ice cream. It isn't what she'd call dinner, but she knows she has to eat smaller meals before she can eat a decent one. She hasn't had any food in close to a week. There's a good chance her stomach might reject it. She also knows Caroline is right – morphine doesn't make a person feel very well if it isn't taken with food. She picks up one of the quarters of a sandwich and takes a delicate bite, chewing slowly and swallowing. It feels like razors in her throat.

"Have you eaten at all in the last few days?" Isabel asks Steve, who's taking his own tray's lid off and picking up a sandwich, putting a whole quarter in his mouth at once.

"Yeah, a bit," Steve says, swallowing it almost hole. "Bucky brought me a plate at dinner last night when he came to see you. They only let him in because he's related to you. He stayed a few minutes, ate his dinner with me, and then said he'd come back when you were awake."

"He came? Is he okay? I know what happened to me scared him," Isabel blurts.

"He's okay, Belle. Just glad that you're safe now, I think. You know he doesn't really talk about things much these days," Steve says a little sadly.

"I know," Isabel agrees, taking another bite.

They sit in silence for a while, Isabel managing to pick away at her sandwich even through the grogginess of the medication. It's definitely been a while since she ate; she feels like her stomach is soaking up the food like a sponge, like it's become a bottomless pit. She has to hold back though – too much food and she'll be sick. But the idea of a bottomless pit of a stomach reminds her of Steve and how much he needs to eat, and if Dugan said he'd never left her side… Steve finishes off his entire tray, but he looks even hungrier, like he hasn't eaten at all. Isabel knows he needs to eat more, much more. Without eating he'll never recover from his injuries. It kills her to suggest it, knowing she'll most likely freak out if Steve leaves, but she wants him to be healthy as well.

"Why don't you go and eat something else in the mess hall? Take a shower, get some sleep? I'll be okay here," she forces out, but she doesn't sound very reassuring.

Steve notices. "No, it's okay," he reassures. "I… I don't want to leave you."

Isabel looks at him contemplatively for a second and then nods. She gets it. She doesn't really want Steve to leave her here, and she knows that he doesn't need as much sleep as the average human, but he also needs more rest due to his recovering body. He may look like he's healing, but his body is still recovering from the major trauma it suffered, and he needs to eat regularly to keep up with his metabolism.

"Okay, just promise me you'll get something to eat," she tells him.

"Once you're settled, I promise," Steve says, smiling at her.

Isabel nods. "How are your wounds feeling?"

"Not bad," Steve admits. "Not moving around has definitely helped. It only hurts to lift my arms, mainly, when the skin is stretched. Caroline asked me if I was injured hours ago and I said no, that's probably why she was so unimpressed."

"I'd be angry too, if I was your nurse," Isabel laughs. "Somehow even when I was unconscious or being shot, I managed to worry about you," she laughs, blushing a bit.

"And I appreciate it," Steve promises, squeezing her free hand.

After a few minutes, Isabel's arms get tired again and she insists she's full. Steve won't have a word of it, picking up the next sandwich triangle and feeding it to her. She's embarrassed with reddened cheeks, but Steve won't take no for an answer, so she munches away dutifully at the meal until every bite of the sandwich is gone.

"What do you want next?' Steve asks inquisitively. He peers at the tray and picks the ice cream up, peeling off the lid. "My ice cream was good. Before now, I hadn't had ice cream since we were in Texas. What's that, like over a year ago?" He asks conversationally, trying to keep Isabel awake.

Steve grabs the spoon and takes a small bite for himself. He makes a delighted sound, even though he already ate his own, and goes to eat another spoonful.

"Don't eat it all," Isabel tells him, opening her mouth for her own spoonful.

She knows he's only eating it to trick her into eating some before he takes it all, but she decides to play along. The ice cream feels nice on her sore throat, cooling, and she and Steve eventually polish off the small tub.

"Kind of feels weird, doesn't it?" Isabel asks. "Like the roles are reversed."

"Yeah, normally it's me in the bed, sick, and you looking after me," Steve chuckles. "At least after so many years of practice I have some idea of what I'm doing."

"You're a very good nurse," Isabel tells him sincerely.

"And you're a pretty good patient. You didn't even complain when I accidentally shoved the ice cream into the side of your mouth," Steve laughs. Isabel shrugs, smiling too. "I know I wasn't a very good patient back then," Steve says suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I always got angry and annoyed and sometimes I took it out on you and Bucky and my mom. I am sorry for that," Steve admits, looking guilty.

"Steve," Isabel laughs. "You really don't have to apologise for that. I get it. You were sick all the time, you didn't have a normal life, and it was frustrating."

"Yeah, but it isn't an excuse. You were just trying to help."

"What brought this up?" Isabel asks curiously.

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Seeing you in pain, holding you unconscious in my arms, watching from the distance as Morita and the doctors worked on you once we brought you here… It made me realise what it would have been like for you all those years when I was sick. All those hours you spent in the hospital and at my bedside waiting for me to recover. All those times you watched on from the doorway of my room while the Priest came out and gave me my last rights because they didn't think I'd last the night. Showed me how it would have felt when you thought you were going to lose me to some illness."

"It was hard, I will admit," Isabel says quietly. "But we were all well aware of how sick you were. From the first moments of our friendship, your Ma taught Bucky how to see the warning signs. None of it was a surprise. All those asthma attacks, anaemia bouts, heart problems – I knew all about them. And honestly, even when they said you wouldn't make it, there was always a part of me that knew you'd pull through because you're a fighter. Proved me right, too. But Steve, what happened to me the other day, that was pretty different–"

"Still, it made me realise I never thanked you for what you put up with. For all the times you beat the phlegm from my lungs and made me soup. That time you saved me from having an asthma attack in that alley after I got the ever-loving shit kicked out of me. And all the times you patched me up after I got into a fight. All those times we had to cancel or postpone plans because I caught a virus…"

"You don't have to thank me for that," Isabel reassures, leaning forward with a grimace of pain to kiss his cheek. "Or Bucky, for that matter. You know he secretly likes being a mother hen, and nursing is just what I do. Makes it that little bit more worthwhile when the person I'm helping is so important to me."

"Still," Steve protests. "Thank you. I truly don't understand how you did it."

Isabel looks at Steve for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing a bit. "As I said, the situations are very different. You watched me get tortured, Steve. I don't ever expect you or anyone else to be okay with that."

"And we don't expect you to be okay with it either, Belle," Steve tells her.

"I'm okay," Isabel promises. "Sore, but okay, because I know it could have been much worse. Most of all, I'm angry."

"Join the club," Steve mutters. "Belle, I'm serious. If you wanna cry, you cry. If you want to scream, scream. If you want to stay here and fight, get revenge for what they did to you, then you can join the line behind me, Bucky and all the other Commandos. If you want to go home to Brooklyn, I understand that, too. I'll always be here for you, no matter what you decide."

"I'm not leaving," Isabel says stubbornly. "I'm not going home to Brooklyn and leaving you and Bucky here. I can't do that."

"Belle, I don't want you to stay here just for m–"

"It's not just for you," Isabel tells him. "I'm still intent on doing good, just like I was when I first agreed to come with you for the Project Rebirth experiment. I still want to help, still want to patch my Commandos up again when they get injured, want to keep working on the serum. I can't just go home to that empty apartment all alone when there's so much left for me to do."

Steve's eyes flash with understanding, but there's an underlying darkness remaining, and it shows as well in the jolt of a muscle in his jaw. "What if you get hurt again?" Steve asks quietly, his eyes slightly glassy.

Isabel looks Steve dead in the eye with an urgency he rarely sees. "I don't care what the Red Skull or any of Hydra do to me. They can shoot me and torture me all they want. But I won't let them win. Whether that winning is world domination or taking the Commandos down, I won't stand on the sidelines and let it happen. I won't just be a bystander. I'm going to be there right in the middle of it fighting back. And most importantly, I won't let them come between you and me. I won't let them separate us, not when we came so close to it happening. It just can't happen."

Steve nods his understanding, though his eyes look wide and sad. Isabel smiles at him reassuringly, cupping his cheek with her hand. She tugs gently on his jaw and he obeys, leaning forward and pressing his lips to her own.

"I'll be okay, Stevie," Isabel promises. "'Specially if I have you by my side."

* * *

Bucky enters the infirmary just as Isabel's swallowing the last spoonful of the vanilla custard. She looks good, no longer hauntingly pale. The bag of blood attached to her arm that the nurse set up only a few minutes ago must be doing her wonders already, the transfusions replacing the blood she lost with her injuries. She looks warmer, a little bit of a flush in her cheeks.

Most importantly, she's smiling, laughing at something Steve's saying to her. Bucky can't help but feel like his heart bursts at the sight of Steve and Isabel together, both of them leaning in close to each other, Steve's hand holding Isabel's and his other hand lifting the spoon away from her mouth, putting it back on the tray over her legs. Steve grabs the napkin and wipes at her mouth where he's managed to push the spoon into her lip again, Isabel laughing.

Bucky feels almost bad for interrupting them, but he hasn't seen his sister awake yet and he needs to relieve Steve so that the blonde can get some rest. Bucky's been in his room the last few days resting, but he hasn't exactly gotten much sleep after everything he saw. He feels more rejuvenated than Steve, though, considering he was far less injured.

Bucky walks around the corner, and Isabel and Steve look up at the sound of his footsteps, smiling brightly. "Look at you!" Bucky cheers happily as he comes to stand beside her bed. "Awake and eating. It's good to see. Last time I came you were out cold."

"Hey, Bucky," Isabel smiles.

Bucky pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a small bouquet of flowers. They're an assortment of daisies and tulips, and Isabel takes them from him with a smile, smelling their aroma with her eyes closed.

"Got these for you," Bucky tells her. "Ran down the street and picked 'em from the community park while the groundsmen yelled at me. Had to explain they were for my sick sister, but that didn't work, so I told him you were Captain America's girlfriend and it shocked him enough for me to make my escape."

"Thank you, Buck," Isabel says sweetly, putting the flowers on the bedside table to put in a vase later.

"Bucky, please," Steve says, "Stop showing me up. It's real hard to be a good boyfriend when you're around setting the expectations high."

"You'll just have to step up your game to match me. After all, I have much more practise with women than you, pal," Bucky says with a shrug, winking at Isabel. "I'll stay with Isabel a while. Go get some food, take a shower, have a nap. Lord knows you need it," Bucky tells Steve, not leaving any room for argument.

Steve hesitates, looking at Isabel worriedly. "I'll be fine," Isabel promises him, squeezing his hand.

"Don't make me drag you out by those ears of yours," Bucky threatens, standing beside Steve and pulling him up out of the seat, planting himself there so Steve can't sit anymore. "Or worse, I'll make Peggy come get you. She won't be afraid to bully you around."

Steve huffs a little. He comes around the other side of the bed and kisses Isabel on her forehead, careful to avoid the bruise. "I'll be back," he promises.

"Please sleep a bit," Isabel calls after his retreating back, watching him turn the corner and disappear down the hallway.

Isabel had been worried when she'd thought of Steve leaving, though she knows he can't stay here forever; he has to go upstairs and shower and sleep at some point, and he should have had about forty meals by now, not one and a bit. She feels a little guilty that he obviously felt like he couldn't leave her alone. But Bucky's here now, so she knows she'll be okay.

"Is he being a mother hen?" Bucky asks knowingly.

"Yes, he's just like a clone of you," Isabel chuckles. "He doesn't cope well when it isn't him in the hospital bed."

"Ain't that the truth," Bucky says with a chuckle. "Is he keeping you entertained? Wouldn't want our best girl getting bored."

"I'm fine, Bucky," Isabel laughs. "You need to stop worrying. You're almost as bad as Steve."

"Almost was the key word in that sentence," Bucky points out. "So, how are you, doll? Tell me the truth." He grabs her hand in both of his own, warming it again.

"Okay," she says truthfully. "It's a little uncomfortable, but I'll be okay. The pain medicine works wonders."

"I know it does," Bucky chuckles. He smirks at her, but quickly loses the happiness, replaced by a haunted look in his eyes, his lips a thin line.

Isabel immediately catches on. "What is it?"

"Gotta be honest with you, Belle. For a while back there, I thought I'd lost you for good," Bucky says, looking away from her eyes. His eyes are a little glassy.

"I thought I was a goner, too," Isabel admits sadly.

"When Steve stopped the machine and you were just looking around all dazed, not focusing… I… I thought they'd wiped you. Thought you wouldn't remember us," Bucky's saying, tears in his eyes. "Stevie thought it too, he was so terrified."

"I know."

"Then, even when you did come too, said our names and remembered us, I still thought we'd lose you. You were bleedin' out fast and we couldn't get clear quick enough. The ride in the truck back to base was the longest hours of my life–"

 _Her leather boots pounding the pavement of the factory floor as she sprints, Madame Hydra's eyes flashing evil as she chases behind her like a cheetah stalking after their antelope pray; the blinding pain of the gunshot through her leg, the tight grip on her arms as Madame Hydra hauled her back where she'd come; the electricity running through her brain, sparking memories she hadn't know she had and frying them seemingly in front of her eyes–_

"Dunno how I would have gone home if I wasn't bringing you back with me," Bucky says, breaking Isabel out of her flashback.

 _The feeling in her throat when she wants to scream but it doesn't want to come out, that silence inducing pain that sees her just stunned into silence before the screams burst out of her like a tsunami, the sound echoing off the walls. Bucky putting his head into his hands, covering his ears and screaming along with her–_

"Ma would kill you for letting her baby die," Isabel grits out, her eyes stinging with tears that threaten to fall.

She can't make sense of it, the thoughts in her head, tangled, indecipherable–

"Steve, I've never seen him like that," Bucky's saying, but Isabel barely hears. "It was like he was rabid. He broke out of those chains with so much force, with this animalistic rage, and it was like he just saw red. He didn't see anything but his target. I-I've never seen anything like it."

"W-what?"

"You're his weak spot, Belle. Everyone's got a dark side, and for Steve, it's you. He'd do anything for you, you know. He'd kill for you. He'd die for you," Bucky tells her, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he stares at the bed sheet he leans his elbows on.

 _Steve above her, kneeling down and ripping her free of the restraints that cut of the blood flow. That animalistic rage Bucky's talking of, she saw it, the tail end of it. That darkness to his eyes, the red of his face, the scowl on his features before they soften, his baby blues drinking her in as he surveys the damage. But still there, deep down, that rage that they got away, that he couldn't rip them apart the way he ripped his way out of his restraints–_

All of a sudden, her hands are trembling at the memory of what happened, the memories flashing across her eyes. Isabel's forehead breaks out in a sweat and she shakes all over. She feels like she can't breathe, like someone's sitting on her chest and depriving her of the oxygen she craves. Her chest aches enough to make her eyes water, and she even goes as far as to think she's having a heart attack again. She starts crying, the tears rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks, her breath coming sudden and fast, almost as fast as the heart rate monitor behind her beeping away in a fast rhythm. It's almost like a beat, the beeping. Fast and steady. _Too fast to dance to,_ she finds herself thinking. _Bucky could keep up, maybe, but not Steve. He'd step on my feet–_

It takes her a moment to realise Bucky's talking to her, pushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead, trying to turn her attention to him rather than staring wide-eyed at her hands in her lap.

"Bucky, I think I'm dying," she cries out, clutching her chest as the pain radiates.

Bucky grabs her up in his arms, holding her against his chest. "You're panicking, Belle. You're having a panic attack, you're in shock. It's perfectly normal. You gotta calm down, just breathe," Bucky coaches her, guiding her through the attack, hushing her and petting her hair.

Isabel finds herself glad that Steve isn't here to see this, he doesn't need to see this side of her. But wouldn't he want to? Wouldn't he want to be the one here comforting her? She finds herself wishing it was Steve holding her in his arms, not Bucky. She loves Bucky dearly and appreciates him endlessly, but all she wants is Steve. She thinks she might have cried out for him, and she hears Bucky say that he isn't here. Maybe if she yells loud enough, Steve will hear, even way up in his room like he should be. But she knows it's silly, it would distress the others, so she forces her mouth shut.

Bucky could go and get Steve, but no, Bucky doesn't want to leave her to go find him, and Isabel agrees.

 _No, don't leave me._

She clutches to Bucky, holding him just as tight as he holds her, trying to stop him from leaving. As much as she wants Steve, she doesn't want to be left alone in this big empty infirmary. Dugan went to his own room hours ago, leaving it unnaturally quiet.

"I was talking about it just before and I was fine," she whispers through ragged breath. "Is this going to happen all the time?" She cries, her cheeks soaked with tears and her breathing laboured.

"Maybe, doll. They don't make much sense, but they happen, even to me. I know exactly what you're going through, and I'm so sorry," Bucky whispers.

Isabel remembers the few weeks after Bucky got back from his captivity, the shaking and the nightmares and the vomiting. She doesn't quite think she'll ever forget how her brother resembled a shell of his former self until he found his feet again. Not that he's entirely back to who he'd once been, but he's found himself pretty damn close. It doesn't seem to register that Bucky said the attacks still happen, her brain foggy. Still, she feels a little better knowing that she isn't the only one feeling this way, that Bucky knows what she's going through. She hugs him just a little bit tighter, hoping he knows how grateful she really is that he's there, that she isn't alone.

Bucky holds her tightly and rocks her back and forth. He finds himself wishing _every time_ he'd had his own panic attacks, he'd bitten the bullet and gone to someone for help rather than riding some of them out on his own. The ones that Steve or Isabel had been there for had only been the ones induced by nightmares when they were both together in the middle of the night in their room. Others happened in the day when Bucky was buried beneath his blankets and Steve was in a meeting, or in the middle of the night when they were in the wilderness on a mission, and Bucky had taken himself into the silence of the woods to cry it out. He regrets that now, regrets crying alone in the middle of the day on the cold bathroom tiles, quiet enough that he doesn't invoke the attention of anyone on the other side of the walls. He vows to make sure he doesn't let anyone else suffer the way he did.

Bucky presses a kiss to the top of Isabel's head, into her hair, and waits for the tears to come to a stop. They eventually do, Isabel crying and sobbing until she's exhausted. Eventually she goes weak and limp in Bucky's warm embrace, her eyes closed, and her breathing levelled out. Bucky slowly lays her back against the pillow, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. She buries down a little bit deeper in the blankets, warm, and settles in for the night.

Bucky lets out a deep sigh, looking at his sister for a moment. He settles back into the seat, getting comfortable to stay the night, or at least until Steve makes a reappearance. He's obviously chosen to get some sleep, thankfully. He'll probably be back tomorrow morning.

Bucky pulls a piece of paper and a pencil from his pants pocket and uses Isabel's discarded dinner tray as a makeshift desk. He's got a letter to fashion to home and he's got a lot to write in it. He figures it would be easier for everyone if the news of what's happened to Isabel and the other Commandos came from him; it will spare Isabel from having to relive it all when they get home when she'd inevitably have to explain, and Bucky can write it in a way that will be appropriate for their parents to read. He scrawls into the early hours of the morning by the dim light of the hospital room, hoping what he tells his parents won't cause them too much grief. They deserve to know.

After that, Bucky stays awake, leaning against the soft mattress as Isabel sleeps. He looks around the room and passes the time by doodling on another piece of paper, watching eventually as the underground base outside gets increasingly busier and morning dawns on the city of London. He stays awake to keep the monsters at bay, hoping his presence will put his sister at ease, even in the land of dreams.

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **May 7th, 1944**

"…panic attack…"

"…call me? I would have come down..."

"…happened so fast, I didn't even have time to think of anything but comforting her. That's what I would have wanted."

"You mean when you…?"

"Yeah, pal. I know exactly what she's going through. You know, you both saw it."

The conversation between the two familiar voices had been faint at first, flitting on the edges of Isabel's consciousness. She hadn't even recognised the voices until she'd woken up a bit more, managing to shake off the grogginess of a full night's sleep and the morphine. Isabel cracks one eye open, finding her room closed with the curtain drawn around her bed. But looking down, she notices two pairs of male feet visible from beneath the curtain, Steve and Bucky having a conversation right outside her curtained room. And by the sound of it, not one she was intended to hear.

"God, what are we gonna do?" She hears Steve mutter, his voice agonized.

"Steve, calm down," Bucky says, before there's a muted thud of Bucky putting a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder.

"She's going to have to live with this forever. What if the machine did affect her memory?" Steve asks, nearly a whisper as he forces the words out.

"Let's just cross each bridge when we get to it. Maybe the machine did nothing, maybe it didn't work at all. Or maybe it took away a few key dates, a few childhood memories. We'll deal with it _if_ it becomes apparent we have a problem. Okay?"

"Okay."

"She won't be alone, Steve, she has all of us. And being alone is half of the battle. We'll fight with her. But she's strong, she can get through it, even without us. Okay? You gotta stop worrying so much, punk," Bucky tells Steve with so much conviction it makes Isabel's heart clench.

"Okay," Steve agrees again, sounding unconvinced.

When Steve draws the curtain back again to re-enter the room, Isabel slams her eyes shut, feigning sleep. None of the two are any wiser.

* * *

 **May 10th, 1944**

Steve enters the infirmary in a bit of a flurry, his arms laden with a pile of clothes, a cosmetics bag perched precariously on top. He stops beside Isabel's hospital bed and deposits it all at her feet, smiling at her with pride in himself.

"I didn't know which dress you wanted so I picked a few of your favourite day ones. Peggy got everything else together for you," Steve tells her, handing her the cosmetics bag.

"I don't know if I'll be bothering with this," Isabel admits, opening it and seeing all of her makeup inside. She looks at the dresses Steve brought down for her, picking up the navy-blue one with the flared bottom. She knows it will be a little more comfortable against her leg, not being tight at all. "I'll wear this one."

She sorts through the rest of the pile, finding a brassiere and pair of undergarments, silently thanking Peggy for grabbing those things. Steve most likely wouldn't have thought of them or would have been too embarrassed to go through Isabel's trunk and find them. She looks up at Steve and sees he's looking away and his cheeks are red, having seen them in her hand. Well that answers her question.

"They're just undergarments, Steve. It isn't a lingerie or anything," she teases.

Steve hides the way he chokes on his surprise, his cheeks going impossibly redder. "I know," Steve replies a little sourly, not appreciating her joking at his expense. "I'm just giving you your privacy."

"Yeah, okay," Isabel allows. "Help me to the bathroom? I can't be bothered getting the crutches to go that far."

Steve nods and complies. Isabel carefully pulls back the blankets that she's had covering up to her chest her entire hospital stay, revealing a little more of her legs than she would have deemed necessary. She quickly tugs the gown down; luckily it falls below her knees. Steve doesn't say anything, respectfully keeping his eyes on her face, ignoring the blush of her own cheeks.

Isabel expects Steve to just be her crutch to the bathroom, but instead he lifts her easily from where she's sitting on the bed. He's careful not to flash her behind through the back of the loosely tied hospital gown as he carries her the few metres to the door to the bathroom, opening it for her as he puts her down carefully.

"Thanks," she says, cheeks still red, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I won't be long."

"Please be careful, don't fall over," Steve tells her. "If you need me, call out."

Isabel's got one hand carrying her clothing and the other holding her gown together at the back. "You got it, Captain," she says, smirking at him. If her hands weren't full and retaining her dignity, she'd mock salute him.

Steve closes the door for her once she's inside and Isabel locks it behind her, knowing if Steve needed to get in he'd just break the lock, leaning heavily on the door to take the weight off her leg. It hurts just from walking those five steps into the room. She sighs as she drops the clothes pile and bag onto the chair by the shower. She had a shower two days ago with Caroline's help, but it had been rushed and she hadn't washed her hair, being utterly exhausted after standing for only a few moments.

Now, Isabel unties the gown at the back and lets it drop to the floor, turns on the taps, and carefully steps into the spray of the water, staying close to the handrail so she can grab it if she slips while she stands mainly on one leg. She quickly runs the bar of soap over herself and washes her hair with the shampoo Peggy got for her, rinsing it out under the clean water. When she turns off the lukewarm water and towels herself dry, she feels clean. Once she's got her own clothes on and has brushed out her wet hair, she feels like a million dollars compared to before. She feels good enough to even apply some mascara and a bit of lipstick, making herself feel and look almost back to normal.

It's been a long few days in the hospital, filled with lots of medication, snacking, laughter that night all of the Commandos piled in to see her, and lots of tears. She's let herself release a few tears of sadness or frustration over the days, but she hasn't had another panic attack since that first night she was awake with Bucky, which she has no doubt in her mind won't be her last. And she has absolutely no shame in admitting it. Bucky had explained to her it was normal, that he and the other Commandos and every other soldier on the front lines and back home all suffered similarly, and it made her feel like she wasn't alone, which was no doubt Bucky's aim.

It has been hard, but now it feels worth it. She's finally being released, cleared to go back to her own room. She's gotten through and survived it, and not only does she have a new appreciation for her patients, she also has a new understanding of how short life is. Howard may have pointed it out to her some weeks ago, but she needed her own life to flash before her eyes to see it clearly.

She also needed such a thing to happen to her, she realises, to gain an understanding and appreciation of her inner strength. She's got a newfound respect for herself and just how far she can be pushed and still bounce back. Isabel stares at herself in the small mirror for a moment, before nodding to herself. _You can do this_ , she tells herself, and this time she truly believes it.

When she opens the door to the bathroom, Steve immediately jumps up from where he was sitting on the edge of her bed. He hurries to her and supports her weight, helping her awkwardly hobble back to the bed.

"Still hurts a lot," she admits as Steve sets her down carefully on the edge of the bed.

She leaves her used gown on the bed beside her and shows Steve where the small garbage bags are kept under the sink so she can put her used undergarments in there, which she's got bundled up in the gown. While he grabs it, she drops her shoes to the ground and slides them onto her feet. She stuffs her old clothes into the bag Steve hands her, hiding them. Steve hands her the crutches she's been instructed to use, waiting as she adjusts them under her armpits. He takes her cosmetics bag and the bag of her old clothes and walks beside her as she struggles out of the infirmary on her crutches, an arm hovering near her lower back in case she manages to slip or fall. It's awkward and slow, but she eventually makes it to the elevator, stepping in.

"This would be much faster if you just carried me around everywhere," Isabel grumbles, rubbing her armpits that ache already.

"You know I would, but I don't think it's very practical," Steve tells her, smiling down at her. "Bucky had crutches when he was fourteen and broke his ankle playing baseball. Shouldn't have dived for that home run. If he could get through, you will, too."

"Bucky loved the crutches because all the girls kept fawning over him and all the boys wanted a go on them."

Steve laughs. "That's true," he agrees, just as the elevator doors open on their floor.

Isabel steps out, Steve right behind her, and makes her way to her door. Steve opens it for her, letting her inside. She rests the crutches against the bedside table and then all but collapses onto her bed.

"God, I'm so tired already," she tells him, putting a hand over her face.

She feels a weight on the bed as Steve sits down right beside her, smiling down at her as she lays on the bed. "You'll be tired a while longer, Belle. Especially using your new mode of transportation."

"You sure you can't just carry me around?"

"I'm sure," Steve says apologetically.

"I'll just have to ask the other boys, then, just like I'll ask them to teach me to drive," Isabel threatens.

"I promised you I would teach you," Steve argues.

"Hmm, I don't know if I believe you, though," Isabel says cheekily.

"Really? You want to play that game?" Steve laughs, leaning over the top of her. She laughs as his face inches closer to hers, his lips meeting hers in a sweet, chaste kiss. She kisses back immediately, his hand cupping her cheek. He pulls away, watching Isabel smile with her eyes closed in contentment. "I love you," Steve whispers to her.

She opens her eyes, a sparkle to them that he hasn't seen in a few weeks now. "And I love you. Even if you make empty promises."

* * *

As the weeks pass, Isabel works on getting her leg back to normal. She uses her crutches for the two weeks and ignores the ache of her underarms, pushing herself to get back to work. A lot of her work with Howard on the serum went unnoticed in her time away with the Commandos, since the inventor himself got caught up in the action. They're a little behind their intended schedule, and Isabel wants to remedy that. They spend a long while in the laboratories working on the serum and Howard's plans, analysing the samples of Steve's blood as usual. Isabel also sneakily monitors Bucky, taking samples from him and labelling the vials slightly different so that she knows they're for Bucky whilst remaining inconspicuous.

The Commandos love the crutches, borrowing them to run around the base with, often leaving Isabel stranded somewhere without the crutches to get around. Mainly they leave her in the lab, so she can work while she waits for them to stop their imitations of their ten-year-old selves and return to their current ages. They always came back and get her, of course, but only after they are either told off for messing around in the facility or when Steve comes to find her and tells them off for abandoning her.

At the end of the fortnight, Isabel starts walking on the leg, making sure she has crutches as support as she walks along. Or rather, hobbles along. The Commandos make jokes at her expense, calling her a range of clever names, but she doesn't really mind. It makes them all laugh, and she surmises they deserve a bit of laughter after everything they've been through.

At night in the privacy of their room, Peggy watches and initially helps as Isabel does the exercises Doctor Lewis recommended. She stretches the muscles and jumps around as requested, lying on the bed and stretching her foot toward the ceiling. The first time, the exercises made her cry with pain, but by the end of the two weeks, she hardly feels a twinge. It feels good to get her leg moving again. She's never really been injured, nothing worse than a sprain here and there from playing sport as a child or from that time she tripped on the sidewalk walking home from work, so having such limited mobility has been a struggle.

* * *

 **June 4th, 1944**

One night, in her fourth week of recovery, Isabel finds herself alone in her room, Agent Carter still downstairs in a meeting with Colonel Phillips. She decides to try the next level of exercises she's been given which will stretch the healing muscle even further, which she is supposed to do in the third and fourth weeks of her recovery. She doesn't want it to seize up, she needs to get back into the field in time for the Commandos next mission which could be coming up any day once Dugan's wrist is fully healed, which will only be a few more weeks. It isn't usual for them to have so many days or weeks off, but she assumes it's because they were all captured and witnessed some pretty distressing events, as well as a few of them being deemed medically unfit.

When she's laying on her bed, her leg up somewhere around her head mid-stretch, there's a knock at the door and Bucky steps in without waiting for a reply. He spots Isabel in the unladylike position, stifling a laugh. Isabel quickly throws her leg down, sitting up on the edge of the bed with blushed cheeks.

"Good thing it was me coming in and not Steve," Bucky laughs.

"Steve waits for a reply to his knock before he enters a lady's room because he's a gentleman, unlike you," Isabel shoots back.

Bucky continues on as though she hadn't spoken. "He may not be able to stay away if he got a load of that view." He, of course, is referring to the fact that Isabel's behind had just been on full show of the door.

Isabel snorts out a laugh. "He can't get enough now," she tells Bucky with a wink. "Stop being a smart ass. Surely you didn't just come in here to distract me from my nightly exercises?" She asks, changing the topic.

"Uh, no," Bucky says. He walks in and sits on the bed beside her, looking sheepish. "When you were in the hospital, I sent a letter home to tell them what happened."

"You did what?" Isabel cries. "You told everyone what happened to me?"

"In parent-friendly terms, yes."

"Why?" Isabel cries, hiding her face in her hands in frustration.

"I couldn't hide it from them, Is. They're our parents, they deserve to know what happens to us. Every other soldier sends letters home telling their families what's happening, why shouldn't we?" Bucky argues.

"Because they'll only worry. What we do, it isn't normal, Bucky. We go into the most heavily fortified areas of the whole Eastern Front to take down an enemy organization even _worse_ than the Nazis. We're insane! We purposely put ourselves in danger because we agreed to join the Commandos, not like the others who get stationed where they're ordered to. If our parents knew the full extent of what we do–"

Bucky can see her point, but their parents don't fully know what the Howling Commandos are up to, it's all classified Army information. They were all sworn to secrecy when they were inducted into the troop. Their parents likely think the information in the comics is false, even though it has a strong element of truth. Bucky tells her that, but she doesn't hear it, shaking her head. "God, Ma is going to freak."

"That's the thing, she is," Bucky says apologetically. "Dad replied to my letter, Ma was too beside herself. I knew she probably would be upset, but not to this extent."

"What's she saying?" Isabel asks with a sigh, taking the letter from Bucky's hands and pulling it out of the envelope.

"She's threatening that if you don't get yourself on a ship and take yourself home straight away, she'll come over here and drag you back herself," Bucky mutters. "Honestly, I'd like to see her try."

"Well she can come if she wants, but I'm not leaving," Isabel says stubbornly, proving Bucky's assumptions to be correct.

She takes a moment to read the letter.

 _Bucky,_

 _What do you mean Isabel's been injured? You say it isn't that bad, but a bullet wound to the leg and a few bruised ribs sounds quite terrible and dangerous. How are we to know you aren't just saying that so that we don't worry about her welfare?_

 _What's happening over there, Bucky? What are you and your friends getting up to? What do they have you fighting? I get the sense it's something much bigger than anyone is letting on to us at home. You all have a comic book, for God's sake. I know you said it would be dangerous, but your sister is only a nurse, and I know sometimes nurses are injured in the line of duty, but what are you all getting caught up in? It doesn't sound like typical nursing and soldier duties, and it makes us wonder whether those comics are more fact than fiction. It sounds more dangerous than it's all worth if you ask me._

 _Your mother isn't taking the news well. She's been crying for the last hour, and now she's packing a suitcase, says she's coming over and she doesn't care how much it costs; that she isn't leaving to come home again until Isabel is coming with her, and you too. Steve, as well, I think. She says she won't let her babies die for a war that isn't theirs to fight. In a way, she's right. You've both done your part, it's time to put an end to all of this. Steve as well, he needs to give up the Captain America mantle. No one deserves what he's being put through._

 _I'm talking your mother down, talking her out of it. I'll stop her from coming over, don't worry. But just know she isn't happy. I think she has a few choice words for your Colonel and for the people who did this to you all and who allow you to all fight like you are._

 _I know you are all too stubborn for your own good and you won't come home no matter how much we recommend it. But I'm going to say it anyway. Come home, Bucky. Bring Steve and Isabel with you. Leave it all behind, come home to Brooklyn. Steve and Isabel, they can live a happy life together now that they've finally worked it out and they're both healthy. And you spoke of yourself finding a nice girl – you can settle down with her, too. You can all go back to work, live normally and free from all this danger. Please._

 _If you aren't going to see the sense in what I say, please take care of Isabel, Bucky. I know you will, because she's your little sister and you always have, but this is more than the bully down the street. Remember your training – keep your head down and your rifle ready. I don't know how your mother would cope if only one or none of you returned. And myself, for that matter. Remember where you come from and where you need to return to. We'll still be here when it's all over._

 _Love, Dad_

Isabel wipes a tear from her eye, her heart clenching. It's been a few months since she received a letter from home, the notes always coming and going sporadically. Their mail is checked thoroughly considering it's coming to the SSR base and destined for a member of the Howling Commandos, and therefore it takes a long time for correspondence to come through.

Since she left home, she's heard quite a lot from her mother and from Becca, with a sentence or two from Robbie here and there. She's tried to tell them as much as she can about her and Steve's journey into a romantic relationship, about saving the soldiers on the front lines. She knows a lot of what she writes probably is censored and blacked out. Her family have all responded back enthusiastically, Winifred particularly thrilled about her and Steve, which Isabel sourly thinks has something to do with Steve's new status and appearance. Though, she remembers Winifred being much more accepting of Steve just before they left for the Project Rebirth experiment. Perhaps, the knowledge that Steve himself was one of her possible suitors puts Winifred at ease as she knows he daughter's reputation hasn't been ruined, even though it maybe was unacceptable for them to live together as they did.

Her father, though, has been mostly missing from the letters. She supposes Winifred writes it while he's at work, or perhaps he feels what Winifred's written has been enough to cover him as well. George Barnes has never been the overly emotional type, never one to tell someone how he's feeling, and so the letter surprises her. His heartfelt lines at the end, most of all.

"He knows us well," Isabel manages to laugh. "Stubborn is correct." Isabel takes a few deep breathes and a few minutes to calm herself. "I'll write back to them tonight, I promise," she eventually says, sucking in a shaky breath. "I'll tell them I'm fine, that you were overreacting. I really am fine."

"Okay," Bucky says, not-reassured. "Not sure if they'll believe you, though." Bucky stands to leave again, looking a little sheepish for causing the trouble. "You know, there is maybe one good thing that comes from all of this," he tells his sister, turning back when he gets to the door.

"Yeah? What's that?" Isabel asks, already standing at the vanity and finding a spare piece of paper to write on.

"The mental image of our tiny Mama marching right up to the Red Skull and socking him in the jaw. I'd say she has to get in line behind the rest of us, but I doubt she'd be patient enough to wait," Bucky says with a chuckle.


	46. Chapter 45

**A/N:** Hi all! So sorry for the slow updates lately. Life, work and university have really been kicking me butt! I'm in my last week of placement for teaching so I'm getting into the home stretch now and hopefully I can update a bit more regularly. I hope you are all still enjoying the story and loving the characters. This chapter is very action packed and loosely follows the events during the Normandy Landings of 1944. Read and enjoy, and please continue to review, they always light up my day! :)

* * *

 **45.**

 **Sword Beach, France**

 **June 6th, 1944**

"Operation Overlord," Colonel Phillips had said. "Have you heard of it?"

Steve, of course, had heard of it. The operations had been in the works for months, since nineteen-forty-three. The largest seaborn invasion in history, they were expecting. He'd heard of it.

"Yes, sir. I have," Steve replies, standing awkwardly in the doorway of Phillips' office.

"Take a seat," Phillips offers, and Steve does. "I want you on that mission. You and those of your men who are medically cleared. It's the biggest operation ever conceived and you having a part in it would be a massive boost."

"But what about Hydra?" Steve asks.

"Hydra is a immense threat, but so are the Axis powers. We can take down Hydra, but what good would it be if the Nazis were to take over the world anyway?" Phillips asks quietly. "The Germans have occupied France since nineteen-forty. I think they deserve a chance of liberation, don't you, Rogers?"

Steve considers this. "How long will the mission be?"

"Depends how successful you are," Phillips allows. "I want you landing at Normandy with the infantries. It may seem odd, but you're going to Sword Beach with the 3rd British Infantry."

"Sir, with respect, I hoped to fight along the Americans…" Steve begins.

"And you are. The Allies, we are all one in this fight. There's no them and us," Phillips retorts. "The Germans would never expect Captain America to arrive with the British. Lead them, boost their morale, help them out. Stay for a few days if you want, stay a month. But just _do something_ to help." Steve can barely argue with that prospect. "Get your men together, you need to leave right away. Landings are the morning of June sixth. And make sure none of them get too wounded or worse, killed; you all still need to be fit and fighting to take on Hydra when you get back. Hopefully by then we'll have more intel."

And that's how Steve, Bucky, Monty, Jones, Dernier and Morita find themselves aboard one of the large amphibious carriers en route to the shores of France. Their instructions had been clear – fight for as long as they want before contacting Stark to come pick them up. It hardly seems fair that they can pull out of the operation at any time, that when the going gets tough they can just leave, but they suppose that is what comes with being the first line of defence against Hydra for the entire world.

Steve knows that he isn't only wanted at the Normandy Landings to help the Allies advance – he knows that the publicity of Captain America fighting alongside the Allies, of taking down the Germans and helping to liberate France, is one too good to pass up. He can only imagine the new comic books and propaganda posters that will come of it.

When they departed, only a few hours after Colonel Phillips gave them their orders, they left Dugan at the base with his still-healing wrist and gave him the task of keeping Isabel company. He vowed to follow her around like a puppy until they return. Steve knows Isabel is mostly healed and capable of looking after herself, but he doesn't want her to get lonely. He isn't exactly sure how long they'll be gone for. Their usual missions to Hydra, though extremely dangerous, always have an expected time of completion. They know how far they have to travel back and forth, how long it might take to destroy the factory and how long it may take to apprehend any prisoners and hand them over to the correct authority.

This mission is extremely difficult and different, not just for the Commandos but for every other man involved. The number of goals the Army has set for its soldiers is beyond overwhelming, and the entire operation could take months or years to complete. It's mass chaos to get every infantry, each with their own set of instructions, on the right page and consistently performing, but somehow, it's all been coordinated. They can only hope there are no snags and the infantries remain on track. The basic rundown, without all the intricacy, is for the infantries to successfully land at the beach and continue to occupy areas of France, moving further inland, and pushing the Germans out of the country and back into their own. It's like an ultimate sheep roundup in thousands of miles of countryside, and there's millions of lives at stake if they're unsuccessful.

Still, as overwhelming as Operation Overlord seems, Bucky and the others have fought on the front like this, before Steve ever liberated them from Hydra. They know what it's like to work toward a goal, complete it, and be issued another straight away. They know the hardship of battle on the front, of living in trenches and of being constantly under fire. Steve isn't exactly as well-versed, but he's about to have a crash course.

The boat rocks heavily on the water as it moves across the open ocean. It's nearly silent except for the movement of the waves beneath them and the deep breathing of the men. It's eerie when the men have grown accustomed to the constant explosions and gunfire and screaming and crying–

Apart from one man at the front who scours the horizon with his binoculars, the khaki-covered soldiers from the Third Infantry Division look around them, trying to distinguish something, anything from the pitch black. The only light comes from the rounded moon above, reflecting on the ripples of the silvery water. They can't see much, only the faint curves of land in the far distance.

A lot of them have their eyes trained on Steve and his men. Steve knows he sticks out – not only is he wearing the American flag on his uniform, but he, Bucky and Gabe are the only people in the boat speaking with an American accent. It had been much more noticeable when they'd gotten on the boat in the early hours of the morning and Steve had introduced himself to the infantry Sergeant. Since then, eyes had been practically locked on him.

Steve is technically the highest ranked person aboard the mission, but he really hasn't much idea of what he's doing, and he'd told the Sergeant so within a few minutes. The Sergeant hadn't look surprised.

"Don't worry, son," he'd said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Leave it to us to keep with the strategies. You just do your thing. I heard you and your men aren't much for rules, anyway."

As the boat sails across the English Channel toward France, everyone is practically silent. A lot of the men are asleep, getting in the minutes of rest they can, and so Steve and the others try to remain quiet as well. Dernier is asleep against Monty's shoulder, whilst Monty, Morita and Jones lean up against the wall of the boat, mouths open with soft snores. The soaked flooring is hard and uncomfortable, the wall digging into their spines, but somehow they sleep soundly. They're all drenched from the rain that had pounded them only an hour before, their uniforms sticking uncomfortably to their bodies and their hair limp and cold.

After a while of silence and rocking and getting splashed by waves, Bucky shuffles around and pulls a cigarette packet from his breast pocket, offering one to Steve.

"Marlboros? You told me they were for dames," Steve asks, scrunching his face up.

"Don't have any then," Bucky says evenly, putting Steve's cigarette back into the box.

Steve shakes his head, snatching the cigarette from Bucky's grasp. They duck down low against the wind and Bucky lights the cigarettes. They take a long drag, the smoke swirling thickly in their chests along with a rush of nicotine and the sweetness added for the sake of the female tongue.

"They aren't terrible," Steve admits, eyeing it curiously. "Not that I have much experience with smoking to compare it to. I still can't get used to it, you know. Being able to smoke without coughing up a lung. How'd you find these, anyway? Peg get you hooked?"

Bucky takes another breath before answering, watching the shadows of his friend's face in the low light. "Sure did, on our first date. Well, our first proper one, when I took her out for dinner to that fancy Italian restaurant Howard recommended. I walked her home in the pissing rain, because, as you know, its always raining in England, and she offered me a taste. I haven't bought anything else since, honestly. Now I've had these, it makes all the others taste a little foul."

Steve offers a square of his ration chocolate as repayment for his stick, and Bucky lets the chocolate melt on his tongue, savouring the sickly-sweet taste. They've never been much keeping tabs on who paid for what or who owes who, at least, not until Steve got healthy. His need to prove himself and to be of equal to everyone else has stretched from larger goals like giving Isabel the life she deserves to making sure he pays everyone back for anything they loan him, even a cigarette.

They smoke their cigarettes down to the stubs with a splattering of quiet chatter to distract themselves from the mission. Still, it doesn't quite work. The boat nears closer to the beach. Steadily the men's breathing race and their eyes get a bit wider, swallowing down the lumps of fear in their throats. Bucky's breathing quickens slightly, but he looks calm as anything on the outside.

"Still can't get used to this, either," Bucky eventually admits.

"It's a little different to usual," Steve allows.

"You know this is a suicide mission?" Bucky asks carefully, his brow furrowed.

"Don't think like that," Steve immediately berates. "You know I wouldn't let that happen."

"Maybe not for me," Bucky allows, "but for everyone else? How can I not think like that? They're being thrown in, unprotected. The Germans will know we're coming a mile off. If we all don't get killed on the beach, we have to take the cities–"

"The beach has already been bombed, Buck. Bombers flew ahead of us a few hours ago. And again, the cities will be bombed before we advance. They're going to clear the path for us."

"Doesn't mean we won't get shot."

Steve sighs. "We have the shield. And if we lose the shield, I give you my explicit permission to use _me_ as a shield. It'll only hurt a little. We just won't tell Belle that you hid behind me." Bucky huffs out a laugh. Steve sighs again, sounding tired. "All these men, they're nothing but a number, Buck. They're pawns on their chess board. If they get knocked off, they just replace them with a spare. All in aid of protecting the king."

"And what are you?" Bucky asks with a small smirk. "The queen?"

Steve bursts out a laugh, glaring playfully at Bucky. "The most powerful attacking piece on the board? Can move both diagonally and horizontally. Sure, I'll be the queen," Steve allows.

"I thought you weren't supposed to hurry the Queen into the game, since the opponent might try to attack it?" Bucky asks, entirely seriously.

"It's been nearly four years, Buck. I'm hardly hurried into the game."

Bucky nods at this, contemplative. "And what if we run out of pawns?" Bucky asks.

"Then it's up to the rooks and knights and bishops, and if all else fails… they still have their queen," Steve laughs. "You really gotta stop worrying. I won't let anything happen."

Bucky eyes Steve for a while, his blue orbs sad and his brow furrowed. "You ain't been out here properly, Stevie. You really got no idea."

Bucky looks like he wants to argue the possibilities a while longer when suddenly the quiet chattering around them falls silent, replaced with a yell from their commanding officers, preparing them for advancing on the beach. The men all snap awake, their eyes wide, and scramble to prepare their weapons. Bucky snaps his mouth shut, wide eyes staring toward the front of the boat where, in the dull pastel light of morning, they can see the shore of Sword Beach. It's empty, silent, the waves crashing into the sand in a foam of white.

Steve and Bucky stand from their seat on the floor. Steve unclips his shield from his back and holds it in front of them, standing at the front of the Howling Commandos, Bucky on his six. Steve makes eye contact with the Sergeant, who turns to look at him where they stand at the back of the boat. They nod to each other before their cold eyes move back to the approaching beach.

The boat, along with several others on either side of theirs, roll up lazily to the shallow water and stop with a heavy thud, throwing them all forward with a jolt. The door at the front opens and slams into the sand, a ramp for the soldiers to disembark.

Immediately the gunfire begins. Their attackers appear on the esplanade road above the beach, at the top of the large sand dunes lining the back. There aren't many Germans, the beach mainly cleared by the earlier air raid, but there's enough. Their bullets fly straight into the boat where the men can't escape, churning them up with a splattering of blood. Most of them don't even make it off the ramp before they fall face-first into the shallows, the water turning red. The Commandos can see more and more of the beach as the men in front of them drop like flies.

Steve, with his face covered in someone else's blood, grabs hold of Morita and Dernier's shoulders and push them off the side of the boat into the water. Jones and Monty follow, and then Steve grabs Bucky too and flings them both over the edge, out of the path of the bullets. They land in the shallow waves, discoloured red with blood, bullets hitting all around them with loud splashes. They quickly wade through the water amidst the rogue bullets, tucked in to make themselves small.

Beneath a beautiful display in the candy-floss morning sky, the Commandos and the British soldiers race up the beach in large groups, their rifles raised, and their heads ducked. Dozens of men go down with a shout, their shoulders and arms and legs blown out by machine-gun fire from the remorseless German defence.

The man running in front of Morita takes a shot to the head, the bullet hitting him directly between the eyes, and he falls with a thud to the ground, motionless. Morita jumps over him quickly, clearing the body, and then keeps running.

If Steve could drag Bucky along with him, right behind the shield, he would. He knows Bucky can handle himself, but he wants Bucky right beside him at all times. He doesn't want to risk anything, doesn't want to risk losing him in the crowd or a bullet flying over his shoulder right into Bucky. But Bucky runs right next to Steve, behind him and slightly to the left, keeping on his six as he always does. Steve chances a look back and notices all fear and uneasiness has dissolved from Bucky's face, replaced with anger, persistence, and a surge of protectiveness. As soon as Bucky's in the fight, he barely has to think about what he's doing, his body just moves. Steve can see why Bucky says he thinks he was made for this.

The Commandos dodge and duck as they hurry up the sand, their boots sinking into the churned-up ground. They dive at the last second into the sand dune which provides cover from the Germans on the road above. They get sand in the eyes and mouth, and hurriedly wipe it away, coughing.

With their backs to the dune, they have the chance to double check their loaded rifles, readjust their helmets on their heads, and watch the men who'd been behind them as they attempt to follow up the beach. There are more men fallen than standing. Those who are alive are screaming, clutching their wounds, clutching each other. One man walks around, dazed and confused, his right arm left with nothing but shreds from below the elbow.

The boats they'd arrived on finally follow behind, converting from boats into tanks that plod up the wet sand, engines whirring, and onto dry land. They begin to shoot, their thick canons blasting out explosives toward the German line. A few of the blasts miss, instead ploughing through the once-beautiful houses along the esplanade. Most of the fire hits its target, exploding into the Germans and taking out much of their defence, including the one or two tanks they had of their own. The men fly everywhere with the force, not always as a whole. Their tanks overturn, bursting into flaming fireballs.

The gaps created in the German defence give the Allies the room to move. From the bottom of the sand dune, those waiting negotiate the slope and emerge at the top in a surprise attack, forming a blocking line and shooting at the awaiting Germans. The Allies shoot accurately in a wave of bullets that plough through the unexpecting men.

Bucky, one of the best shots in the division and maybe even the American Army itself, aims at them as the last remaining flee like frightened cats into the town. He picks them off one by one, turning to the next before the last has even hit the ground. He gets so wrapped up in the adrenaline of the hunt, in staring through his scope, that he somewhat forgets to watch his own back, confident that someone will have his six and it will likely be Steve. He jumps, nonetheless, when there's two successive shots behind him, Steve's shoulder jolting lightly into his back with the force they're standing so close together. Bucky turns to see two Germans lying on the ground in front of them, Steve's pistol steaming slightly with the heat of the barrel.

Steve looks up to Bucky as though he were looking to an older brother for praise. Bucky takes a second to slap him on the back, smirking proudly. How strange, it seems, to be congratulating Steve on such a thing. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Bucky would've clapped Steve's back for finishing a painting, or for surviving that bout of pneumonia. Now, he does it for killing a man or two.

Bucky shakes his head to clear his thoughts and keeps shooting.

* * *

The seaside town of Ouistreham barely stands a chance as the British commandos clear the area of enemy strongpoints. Long evacuated in the light of the D-Day Landings, the town is empty of civilian life. Only the British soldiers and Commandos remain, standing amidst the smouldering ruins, the air thick with smoke and gunpowder.

Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Commandos are unharmed, but that notion doesn't extend to everyone. A quarter of the infantry, give or take, still lie wounded on the beaches and throughout the streets. Most of them are dead, unblinking. Those still alive cry out for their mammas as the final memories of their lives flood behind their eyelids like a calming film.

The medics follow through once all the carnage has died down, the gunfire has ceased, and all the Germans have been sought out from their hiding places amongst the ruins. Morita hurries off with Jones and Dernier to help them and to do what he can to fix the damage. Steve and Bucky help carry the wounded on stretchers and in their arms to the temporary camp nearby for medical treatment. They'll either be transferred to the closest field hospital or thrown back into circulation.

Once the majority of the beach has been cleared and the town has been scavenged for any survivors, the Howling Commandos join the rest of the healthy men as they are rounded up before their battle-hardened Sergeant. His face is pulled into a tight frown as he barks some orders. Then the group is off, marching together in two neat lines, their boots hitting the bitumen roads with thuds, a melodic beat. They move through the countryside on rocky and hilly terrain, hard on the legs.

Sounds fill the air – the crunch of gravel and grass, ragged breathing, the jingle of dog tags and rifles and heavy backpacks. Bucky adjusts the straps and keeps going. The trees blow lightly with the wind, the warm sun beating down on their backs.

When night falls and they stop to make camp, the Commandos set up their sleeping bags on the outskirts of the group. It doesn't feel so much unlike their usual missions, except rather than being deep within the thick forests, they're out in the open countryside with a million stars above them to search and watch. There's a salty sea breeze blowing toward them, whipping their hair and clothes and providing a relaxing howl.

Exhausted, everyone falls asleep rather quickly. Steve volunteers to be one of the men on watch for the first shift, and he sits alone on his sleeping bag, staring inland. His eyes roam over the deserted, grass-covered hills that would be so beautiful and green under the midday sun. His eyes travel up over the stars, over the tiny balls of light so far away that light up the land with their glow. He squints into the darkness when he thinks he sees movement, the shadow of a tree's branches dancing in the wind. And he listens intently to every sound.

Bucky's fallen asleep right next to Steve and he lets out a rather loud snore. Steve nudges Bucky's foot with his own and instantly Bucky rolls from his back onto his side and his snoring stops, plunging Steve into near silence once again.

Steve looks out at the countryside again, and he can just see the glow of the lights of Caen in the far distance, just before the city goes into its blackout.

* * *

 **?, France**

 **June 12th, 1944**

Night is beginning to fall as Steve and Sergeant Anderson stand over a small unfoldable table, two maps of Normandy in front of them, and plan the divisions' next actions in their efforts to take Caen. They plan and plot for hours, scratching their heads and frowning, corresponding back and forth with the officers on the radio. The Commandos watch from where they sit on their packs by the edge of a small stream, the water flow quiet and melodic. Eventually, Steve and the Sergeant salute each other, Steve rolls up one of the maps, and heads back over to his men.

"So, we're off to Caen?" Jones asks Steve as the built blonde walks into earshot.

"Yes," Steve replies, rubbing his forehead.

"You mean we have to leave these beautiful seaside towns?" Jones pouts, lifting his head to smell the salty, fresh air. It's unfortunate the smell is tainted by gunpowder, blood and sweat.

"We do. The beach operations are all linked up now. Juno, Sword, Omaha, they're all ready to go. We have to move forward from here." Steve explains, taking a seat beside Bucky on the grass. "Sergeant Anderson got word this morning. The key to the advance is controlling the road networks, and Caen and St Lo are our goals. Taking Caen has been named a key D-Day target by General Montgomery. The closest anyone has got thus far to Caen is the Canadians, but they were halted by the 12th SS Panzer Division and they've made no headway. Now it's our turn to have a crack at it since we're the next closest. We're to start toward the city, but it won't be easy."

"Dugan will be jealous," Morita notes with a smirk.

"Why?" Steve asks with a frown of confusion.

"Don't you know what Caen is famous for, Cap?"

"Frogs?" Bucky asks, entirely serious.

"Lingerie," Morita correct, eyebrows rising in excitement.

Steve's cheeks immediately flame red. "Yeah? So?" He tries, attempting nonchalance.

"Well, there's a thing called an employee discount. Just imagine, some French dame's been spending all day making cream-coloured negligees with a gathered empire waist, what do you think she wears to bed at night with her employee discount?" Morita continues. "Caen lingerie is the best there is."

"And how do you know this?" Bucky asks, looking doubtful.

"I've had girlfriends, Serge. Must've put out a little more than yours."

"I doubt they're making lingerie in Caen amid their rations and the invasion," Steve notes, ever the voice of reason.

"Cap, they'll always make something that's one of the three basic needs of a man – food, shelter and silk teddies. Besides, I'm sure Germans appreciate lingerie as well?"

Everyone laughs, and Bucky scoffs. "Dream on, Jimmy boy."

"Glad to," Morita says with a shrug and a smile.

"Alright, put your travelling shoes on and get your head in the game," Steve tells them. "The right game," he reminds Morita. "We're heading to Caen."

"Do we have to walk?" Jones asks, incredulously. "That's gotta be ten miles or more."

"Eight," Steve corrects. "And no, I dunno how far we'd make it on foot out here, the land is swimming with Germans. We got transport," Steve says as he stands again, hoisting his pack onto his back.

"Is it a 'thirty-eight Ford Roadster, hard-top, red with black interior?" Bucky asks with a smirk, watching Steve get up.

"White-walls?" Jones adds.

"No white-walls when there's a war on. No Roadsters either. Try a GMC CCKW," Steve says with a laugh, leading them to the back of a cargo truck where the men are piling in for the ride up to Caen.

"So how does this work?" Bucky asks once everyone's seated and the truck's engine has rumbled to life.

"Alright," Steve says, pulling out a map of Normandy that's been scribbled all over. "Although the Canadians are held up in the east, the German defence in the west is more chaotic. The main German unit holding the line in the area is the 352nd Infantry Division. They were strong on June sixth when they opposed the landings at Omaha and Gold beaches, but they've received no reinforcements since, and they had horrendous casualties. They've been weakened by the constant combat. Early this morning, we heard word that the German line broke about half-way between the towns of Caen and St Lo," Steve says, pointing out the spot on the map. "It's where the right flank of the 352nd Infantry Division meets the left flank of the Panzer Lehr Division in the east. The 352nd has fallen back south, but the Panzer Lehr has held their positions because they're occupied in battle with the British 50th Infantry Division."

Steve pauses for a moment, either for suspense or to gather his thoughts, the men aren't sure. "So, there's a gap?" Monty guesses, puffing from his pipe.

"A big gap. Around eight miles between La Belle Epine to the North and Caumont in the south."

"And you want us to run through this gap to get to Caen?" Morita asks, incredulous.

The truck drives over a large pothole and they all jump around in the truck bed, landing hard back down on their seats.

"Not exactly," Steve says, righting the map after he'd bounced around. "Montgomery sees this as the opportunity to regain the initiative in the fight to recapture Caen, but he's not sending us. He's sending the veteran British 7th Armoured Division through the gap in the line."

"The Desert Rats!" Jones says excitedly, recognising the name of the division.

"That's them. They left early this morning but apparently, they've had a few detours and delays. They haven't moved as far as would have been expected. They're still behind the new American front line and only four miles from where they started with twenty miles to go. We'd make it there before them, and we will. We've been given orders to head that way, and if we happen to get there first, then we start operations. But we're going to detour first, to here," Steve explains, pointing to the town of Villers-Bocage on the map. "Villers-Bocage, south-west of our current position. It's a minor but still important junction of the road networks, and it will provide us a path straight through to Caen. We'll be there by morning. We take that, we control even more of the roads."

"Well then, let's go get 'em."

* * *

 **Villers-Bocage, France**

 **June 13th, 1944**

At 0830 hours, the British vehicles, with the Howling Commandos aboard, rumble along the road approaching the town of Villers-Bocage. They face no resistance – there isn't a soul in sight. The most trouble comes, unsurprisingly, from the muddy roads and uneven terrain, the wheels of the trucks often getting stuck in the deep mud pockets, bogging the trucks. The soldiers, open to fire, are forced to jump out regularly and push the back of the truck to free them. Having the strength of Captain America certainly helps in that department, the man able to push a truck alone with ease.

By 0900 hours, they pass through the town, the trucks rolling down the debris-clad roads. In the back of the trucks, the men have their weaponry at the ready. Bucky's keen eye peaks out the flaps of the canvas tarp, keeping watch on any buildings or church steeples in search of snipers and soldiers. No one bothers them, except for a few isolated snipers that are easily picked off.

The trucks make it all the way through the town and back before they come to a stop in the middle of the road and the engines are turned off. A few brave souls go for a walk through the town and return only a few minutes later empty handed, reporting not having seen anyone.

"The town is ours," the Sergeant informs them all, walking past each truck and hitting the canvas to let everyone know they can disembark. "Take a break and wait for the rest of the Division to catch up."

The Commandos stay put in their vehicle as the rest of the soldiers jump down from the trucks, walking into the streets and shops. They search for food and water and somewhere to sit and wait. They relax their guard, secure that the point is strongly held. A few of them start to brew up their morning tea.

The Commandos watch them with uneasiness, an unsettling feeling washing over them. The atmosphere of the town feels strange and eerie. The hairs on the arms and the backs of their necks stand up, as though they're being watched.

"It's too easy," Steve says, his eyes dark with worry beneath his frown. "I'm going to check it out myself."

Steve jumps down from the truck, shield in front of him protectively. A few pairs of footsteps jump down behind him. He turns to see all of his Commandos following.

"We stick together," Bucky explains with a smile. "After all, someone's gotta have your six."

"Fine," Steve relents. "But be on the lookout. No messing around this time. This feels different."

In agreement, the men follow their Captain. They start off through the narrow town streets, past the houses and bakeries and cafes and schools. The feeling doesn't leave Steve, of being watched. He strains his ears to listen for any sounds, and from the building on their right he hears the shuffling of feet, the click of a magazine being loaded into a gun, and the murmur of talking.

Steve immediately beelines for the building. He scurries up to the closed front door of the house, listens through the wood, and quickly realises the men are just inside and off to the right. He tries the doorknob and it opens easily. He steps in, the floorboards creaking unintentionally below him, and that gets the men's attention. They jump up from where they were sat in the corner of the living room preparing themselves for an apparent ambush on the English soldiers who've just entered the town.

Steve flies inside and grabs the closest man by his throat, slamming him up against the wall and dangling his legs from the ground. Bucky follows around the door, immediately holding his pistol to the second man's head in warning. The second man backs up to the far wall, pressing himself flat against it with his hands spread out away from his body.

The rest of the Commandos hurry inside and close the door behind them, concealing the scuffle within the abandoned house.

The man under Steve's hand coughs and splutters despite Steve barely squeezing. Steve watches him for a moment, the way he struggles, before he speaks. "What division are you with?"

"101st Heavy Tank Battalion of the 1st SS Panzer Division," the man replies, slightly choked. His words are barely understandable with his thick accent.

"And what brings you to Villers-Bocage?" Steve continues, voice rising intimidatingly.

"Please, please, don't hurt me!" The man stutters.

"I won't hurt you if you tell me why you're here," Steve promises, lowering his voice slightly.

Tears begin to fall from the man's eyes, his eyes wide with fear. "We were in Belgium. The Fuhrer ordered us to move into Normandy. The Allies attacked our transport systems by air, so we had to come by tank, but we had mechanical problems. Only six Tiger tanks made it, the rest we had to leave on the road. We stopped here to fix them before moving into action with our line. But Wittman realised how important this place was. We were told to stay."

"And you came right to us," the other German sneers, slightly more confident considering he isn't being strangled by Captain America. "Stopped right under our noses. Didn't even know we were here."

"We do now," Bucky retorts.

"But it is too late now," the man replies.

Not two seconds later, the clock in the centre of town strikes ten o'clock. The chimes ring out loud through the city. And, not a second after that, a mass of bullets can be heard outside from a few streets away, back where they'd left the rest of the division. There's an echo through the streets of surprised and terrified screams, and the blasts of grenades exploding, and then a massive bang as one of the trucks explodes and tips, landing on its back with a clunk.

"Damn you all," Steve hisses, clenching his hand around the German's neck. There's a snap and then Steve lets go, the body falling limply against the wall. "Let's go!"

Before he leaves, Bucky slams the second man back into the wall, hard enough to knock him out but hardly enough to kill him. He lets the man slide down and slump in a sitting position.

The Commandos carefully exit the house and duck down behind the brick wall at the front yard, the entire road visible both ways. They watch as hordes of German soldiers file out of where they'd been hiding in the buildings, moving through the streets toward where the British had set up camp. A tank rolls by, Germans hanging off it and sitting on its roof to be driven to the site of the battle that's started up, if the sounds in the distance are anything to go by.

"What do we do, Cap?" Jones asks from beside Steve, watching them with dark features.

"If we can draw some of them to us here, we can take the brunt off the men down the road. We might be able to give them the advantage."

"How do we do that? A distraction?" Morita inquires.

"Don't need anything too fancy," Steve says.

He nods to Bucky, who smirks as he raises his sniper rifle above the top of the wall. Bucky lines it up, and then he shoots, a single bullet pummelling through the side of an unsuspecting soldier's neck. A burst of blood shoots out and the man's hands fly up to the wound. He gasps for a second while his comrades stare in horror before he topples backward from his perch atop the tank, landing in a heap on the ground.

"That should do it," Bucky notes.

The Germans, for the life of them, can't find where the shot came from. They begin to scramble, hiding behind the tanks, diving back to the houses. But the Howling Commandos let lose, a constant round of bullets that fly through the streets and collect up the men.

Once the Germans work out where the shots are coming from, they bunker down as best as they can and prepare for return fire. Some of them continue on down the street to the rest of the battle, but many stay to fight the Commandos, especially once Steve throws his shield into the fray and they realise exactly who they're fighting.

Bucky's eye is right up to the scope of the rifle, and his shot remains impeccable. Unfortunately, some of the other men on the German side are a good shot, too. Bucky pulls the trigger and hits his target, the very top of a man's head, just visible over the top of a brick fence on the other side of the street. But Bucky doesn't have time to watch the victim fall, or to find another. Before he can move, he feels a sharp pain across the top of his shoulder and he's thrown backward with the force, falling onto his back on the grass. He immediately feels the warmth of blood soaking the inside of his blue padded jacket. He looks down, and there, at the top of his left shoulder where the arm meets, is a gauge from where a bullet has whizzed past him, only just missing his actual shoulder. Had it hit a few inches to the right, it would have damaged his shoulder, possibly beyond repair.

Bucky grits his teeth and his head falls back on the grass. He takes a few deep breaths as the pain deepens and a burning sensation floods through his shoulder and into his chest. The feeling is slightly familiar, the only other time he was ever shot being when the one-oh-seventh had been captured by Hydra all those months ago. But this isn't nearly as bad. The shot to his knee would have been debilitating had he not been given the serum which fixed it. Without surgery, he could have lost his leg. This is just a graze. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

But then, unlike last time he was shot, Morita is peering over Bucky and attempting to help him. The medic's face only inches from his own, saying something to him. Morita wraps his arms around Bucky's back and lifts Bucky into a sitting position, getting a look at the wound.

"It's only skin-deep," Bucky hears Morita say. "There's no major muscle damage. The bullet isn't lodged."

And then Steve's face appears, only momentarily. He's taken a second to check on Bucky, looked away from the fight. "Buck, you're gonna be fine," Steve promises, his voice slightly higher than usual with the stress of their situation.

"Just a flesh wound," Bucky agrees. "Startled me, is all."

Morita hurriedly shrugs the coat off Bucky's arm and works quickly, his well-versed hands stitching closed the gauge. The amount of blood that spills out makes the wound look worse than it truly is, which explains Morita's worry at first. It's still deep enough to be threatening, particularly for infection, but nothing terrible. Within minutes, Morita's got the wound closed. He wraps it in a sterile bandage and while Bucky struggles to get his jacket back on, prepares him some pain medication to take the sting out of it. Bucky takes the pills as directed.

"Just stay there, Buck. We've nearly got this covered," Steve promises.

Bucky isn't having any of it. After another minute to collect himself and shake away the fear, Bucky grabs up his dropped rifle and takes up his position again along their line. His arm only aches slightly as he raises the rifle again. The force from shooting jolts his entire body and makes him wince. But after another few minutes, the pain begins to ebb, whether from the medication or the serum, Bucky isn't sure. Still, the injury hasn't left him in the best mood.

Bucky's rifle runs out and he sits back down against the wall to reload. "I have an opinion on this," Bucky tells Steve suddenly, his hands working automatically.

"On what?" Steve asks patiently, looking at Bucky from the corner of his eye as he waits for a particular German soldier to chance emerging from the edge of the tank.

"On them having us here."

"I'd love to hear it. Can't think of a better time," Steve says, only slightly sarcastic.

Bucky glares at his friend, but continues nonetheless. "I guess I was a little apprehensive about coming out here, but now that I am, it seems to me this mission is a serious misuse of our valuableness as a military resource, especially you," Bucky grunts, spinning around with rifle reloaded. He continues to shoot, able to concentrate on the task at hand and have a conversation at the same time.

"Go on," Steve says, intrigued, using Bucky's re-emergence on the line to reload his own pistol.

"Well, by my way of thinkin', we're both a finely made instrument of warfare," Bucky explains with only a small smug smirk. "Meaning, get you inside Hitler's mansion, he doesn't stand a chance, and neither does his advisory party. Or, if you were to put me with this here sniper rifle anywhere up to and including one mile from Adolf Hitler, with a clear line of sight, the war would be over."

"I don't doubt that," Steve notes, ducking down as bullets fly toward him.

"If the entire resources of the United States Army were dedicated to one thing only, it should be putting this rifle on a rooftop smack-dab in the middle of Berlin and me at the other end, or letting you parachute straight into the Berlin Parliament building. I ain't one to question the decisions of the high, but this just seems like a waste of our God-given talents. 'Specially if I'm going to get my head blown off in the meantime."

"It ain't a waste, Buck," Steve argues. "We're helping the other soldiers."

"Well, no, it ain't. We're helping Caen and that. But takin' down Hydra seems more rewarding. At least for me. And it is a little reassuring knowing we are stopping another type of world domination that the average joe doesn't know about."

Steve thinks for a moment. "And do the rest of you feel similarly?" Steve calls to the other Commandos, most of whom had been listening to Bucky's rambling.

"Dernier doesn't mind what the mission is, long as he can blow something up," Jones notes, watching as the man in question stands momentarily, grenade in hand, and launches the explosive at a passing tank.

"I don't mind what we do as long as we don't get shot and killed," Morita mumbles.

"And I'm sure Dugan back home feels similarly," Monty adds.

Steve sighs, resisting rolling his eyes. "If only the others could gripe as well as you, Buck."

"I've had plenty of practice. But I guess that ain't really my job, is it, Stevie? I ain't here to kill Hitler single-handedly. I ain't even here to take down the Red Skull. I'm just here to keep a bunch of numb-nuts, including one frequently suicidal and tempter-of-fate Captain, from getting themselves killed."

"And don't you forget it, Serge," Morita adds.

"What about you, Stevie?" Bucky asks. "How do you feel about this?"

Steve pauses. He does agree with Bucky. While he'd always wanted to fight in the war like everyone else, his new mission has been taking down Hydra. He knows them fighting out here is helping the Allies progress toward victory, but he also can't shake the fear that if one of them was to get mortally wounded in this regular fighting, his team of Commandos to take down Hydra would be lessened in strength and ability, and he isn't sure where he could find another man to fill the gap when the team is already so formed and structured. Particularly if the person to get killed was himself, then there'd be no hope of stopping Hydra. But this is a part of his life now, to fight the enemy in whatever form it takes. So, if he and his men get sent by their commanding officers anywhere other than a Hydra facility, it's their duty to go, no matter how dangerous.

Instead, Steve says, "I don't gripe to you, Buck, I'm a Captain. There's a chain of command, and griping only goes up, never down. You gripe to me, I gripe to Phillips. How long have you been in the Army again?" Steve means it jokingly, though considering their ranks, it is technically true. Had Bucky not been Steve's friend, he likely never would have asked.

"Sure," Bucky allows, "but if you weren't my Captain, what would you say?"

Steve considers his response as he shoots at an advancing Kraut, hitting him square between the eyes. "In that case, I would say this is an excellent mission of valuable objective, worthy of our best efforts." Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve continues on with no signs of sarcasm. "It's just a few weeks of being in the field like everyone else, Buck. We've no leads on Hydra right now, so we may as well use our time valuably."

Bucky can barely argue with that. It doesn't look so good for the press if the world's most famous defensive platoon sits around a London base for weeks on end.

"In addition, as Morita mentioned earlier, Caen is famous for its lingerie and I'd hate to deny any of my men the opportunity to sample some of its finest products to see if they live up to their excellent reputation," Steve notes with a cheeky smile.

"Steve, your cheeks didn't even blush this time," Bucky says congratulatorily.

"Your humour must be growing on me, all of you," Steve smiles.

The two childhood friends stop talking, now that Bucky is satisfied. That's the thing about sergeants. Even if the plans aren't theirs', even if they don't agree with it, it's their job to put everything into action, and that's exactly what Bucky does and will always do, particularly for Steve. He assesses supplies, repopulates vacancies, soothes and disciplines rogue soldiers. The primary thing that makes the Commandos such a formidable force is first Steve's planning, and second Bucky's implementation. Bucky may complain or backchat, but it comes down to his comfortableness with Steve; if he'd been under any other Captain, there'd have been no argument. But generally, Bucky's problems with their orders generates from the one's given by those outside of the Commandos, not by Steve. His problem comes when their commanding officer fail to see the true potential of the Commandos and risk their safety on the mainstream fight.

Steve knows damn well that his men respect and follow him, but even with Steve's meticulous planning and research and triple-checking of intel, operations still go wrong. But things always worked out alright, sometimes even for the better, thanks to Bucky's scrambling to keep everything aligned, had Bucky not worried about clean socks or Isabel's medical kit being filled or the weather report or whether Gabe was paid back his loan to Dugan. Paperwork and politics comprised the greatest part of Steve's job, whilst Bucky saw to the men – their posts, letters, arguments, cigarettes, rations, mental health, physical health, happiness.

Because of this, from a distance, it certainly looked like Bucky and the Howling Commandos played while Steve worked. It looked like they spent their downtime playing poker games, drinking bourbon, reading pin-up magazines and attending dances at the Stork Club. But in doing that, Bucky knew his men inside and out, knew their strengths and weaknesses, their friendships and their abilities and their fears.

Bucky's a damn good sergeant, particularly to his men, and he's a damn good soldier on his own as well. So, he'll do as he's asked, at least this one more time, and he'll keep following Steve in whatever Steve decides to do. They aren't known for following orders, but if Steve decides to follow orders, then Bucky will too, and so, they get back to the fight.

There's still sounds of gunshots in the distance, but nowhere near as regularly as before. Just a bang here and an explosion there. Steve can only hope they're coming from the side of the Allies and not the Germans.

There's only ten or so men left in this area now, easy enough to take down. Steve could easily jump the fence and take them himself, but he isn't willing to risk it. They still have a long road ahead of them if they want to follow on to take Caen and he doesn't want to be injured.

The road is littered with bodies and blood, there's barely an inch of gravel visible. The remaining men are huddled down on the other side of the road behind a similar brick half-wall at the front of a house's yard. Steve can hear a few of them crying, and another praying. They just wait, now, for the men to emerge, to try to shoot, and then they'll take them down. Then suddenly–

"Grenade!" Falsworth yells from the other side of the yard as he sees the German throw it in a last-ditch attempt to take them down, and all of the Commandos scatter to the side. Bucky takes the moment to shoot the German who stood to throw it.

The explosive flies toward Steve and Bucky and over their heads, landing on the grass behind them, only a few feet away. Bucky will pay for shooting the man in that now he's out of time to run. He tucks himself into a ball, protecting his head, and just prays he'll make it out and curses his luck today.

But then, something hard and metallic smashes into Bucky and another body tucks itself around him. Steve's acted with impossible reflexes to prop the shield up in front of them both and wrap himself around Bucky, hoping the shield with take the majority of the damage.

The explosion detonates. The heat is unbearable, but they don't have to suffer through it for more than a second. It turns out the shield doesn't absorb all of the impact, considering the both of them are sticking out slightly on each side. The force of the explosion slams them both back against the brick wall with enough power to knock the wall over and into rubble, spilling them out onto the road. They skid across the gravel and over the fallen bodies, but Steve takes most of the impact with Bucky tucked against him, and his suit means he gets no gravel rash. They come to a stop in the middle of the road, unprotected.

Steve hurriedly throws Bucky off onto the ground in his haste to stand and protect them both. Bucky groans as he struggles to his feet while Steve rushes toward the remaining men who cower behind the fences. Steve clears the fence easily and lands in front of them. He slams the shield down into their heads and shoots the rest with his pistol, wiping them out in less than ten seconds and before any of them can ever fathom to shoot back.

Steve walks over just as Bucky's getting off the ground. Steve hurries around him in a circle to check for injuries, but apart from a bit of singing on the back of his uniform and maybe some bruising from going through the wall, Bucky's fine.

Bucky wipes the rubble and dust from his arms and shoulders roughly, frowning. "This hasn't been a very good start to my day."

* * *

Once the coast is clear, the Commandos make their way through the streets of the Villers-Bocage. It's nearly dead silent and incredibly eerie. There's no movement anywhere, not even the rustle of fallen leaves in the wind or the sound of gunshots in the distance. The town seems to have been purged of life.

They walk down the main road back to the street where the infantry had stopped to make camp. As they near closer, they can hear voices, and gratefully, they're speaking with British accents. There aren't as many voices, though, as Steve would have hoped.

The men round the corner of a building slowly with their hands raised in surrender, rifles slung over their shoulders. At the sound of their footsteps, thirty or so British soldiers turn toward them, a few with pistols raised. They immediately drop them when they realise who it is.

"Captain Rogers," Sergeant Anderson greets, hurrying over to meet them and saluting Steve. He looks dishevelled and stressed, his eyes dark. "We thought you'd been ambushed."

"Not quite," Steve says. "We witnessed the German soldiers coming this way. We kind of ambushed some of them."

"That's a little more than I can say for here," Anderson says, turning to survey the scene.

Steve and the others take a better look, then, and see that the streets are littered with the bodies of the rest of the Germans the Commandos hadn't fought, but also a _lot_ of British soldiers. Most of them have been killed right where they'd been sitting and relaxing, cups of tea spilled from their hands, rifles still in pieces where they'd been cleaning them, bags still open where they'd been rifling through searching for their possessions.

"We didn't even see them coming. One second, it's dead silent. Next, they're running around the corner shooting us up. Most of the men didn't even have time to pick up their guns," Anderson explains. "Those furthest away from the ambush hurried to shelter and fought back, valiantly, I might add. We managed to take them all down, and their tanks." Anderson points to the tanks, one of which is on fire down the road, the others with broken wheels and smoking engines.

"How many of us are left?" Steve asks quietly.

The men remaining look dishevelled and hollow, their eyes widened permanently and their hands shaking. Some of them are collected up dog tags from the dead.

"By my last count, thirty-four in fighting shape," Anderson says, surveying his remaining troop. "There were fifteen wounded that the medics are attending to, but they'll get a section eight, if any of them make it. The rest were killed instantly."

Morita hurries off to the medics shelter that's been set up inside an abandoned shopfront down the road, his medic pack in hand.

"The rest of the division?" Bucky asks.

"Haven't arrived yet, thankfully. When they get here, we'll be about four-hundred strong," Anderson explains.

"Is that enough to continue on to Caen?" Steve inquires.

"Should be, sir," Anderson contemplates. "We won't be the only infantry going. Most infantries have managed to catch up to us. The assault will be happening from all sides of the city. And with you coming with us," Anderson continues, looking Steve up and down, particularly the star on his chest. "Well, we might just about be able to do it. You are coming, Captain?"

Steve shares a look with Bucky, who raises his eyebrows and shrugs, apparently convinced of their valuableness in this particular mission. Steve turns back to Anderson, who's eyes have filled with a slight amount of hope.

"We're in."

* * *

Once the remains of the division catch up, the four-hundred strong infantry begin the march toward Caen. They are instructed to walk as the trucks will cause too much noise and possibly give away their position. The men grumble and drag their feet as they stomp through the countryside, but at the same time they count their lucky stars that they were the ones to survive the earlier ambush.

By nightfall, the division takes refuge in a small town on the riverfront, so small it wasn't even on the maps. It's abandoned for the Normandy Landings, the town evacuated of all people in the days before. Everything is as how the people left it – cars still litter the streets, there's a smell of freshly-baked bread from the bakery on the main street lingering in the air, children's toys still lie abandoned on the front lawns.

The rest of the infantry ransack the bakery for food that hasn't expired, taking the slightly stale bread, and eat it along with their rations. They eventually move into people's living rooms to spend the night in some form of comfort and protection, the walls providing warmth and the couches a welcome change from sleeping on the cold, dewy grass.

Steve and his men bivouac in the ruins of a medieval church in the heart of the city. It still has a roof, albeit missing a few sections, and some of the walls are crumbling and the floor is a little questionable, the entire building leaning slightly to the right. The stain glass window has broken, allowing them to see the moon through the gap. Still, the church will provide enough shelter for them to spend the night.

Jones and Dernier stay behind on the streets for a while after the other men retire and return later once the sun has fully set and darkness has fallen over the town. They come with loaves of bread in hand and drop the stale blocks onto one of the sleeping bags laid out in the middle of the circle the men have made with their other sleeping bags.

Steve looks a little disapproving of them stealing the bread. Jones spreads his hands in surrender. "They'll only go to waste, Cap. Look, they're already stale and this one's even got a bit of mould on it already," he reasons, picking up said loaf and pulling off the piece with the small black spot on it. "Go on, eat it. The bread will fill us up."

The men all pick up a small loaf, since they've scavenged enough for one each. They eat in near silence, pairing the bread with their rations for a rather hearty meal that fills them up, just as Gabe had promised. Within minutes of finishing, the men are climbing into their sleeping bags and falling asleep, exhausted from their day of fighting and walking and being on guard. They've got an extremely early start in the morning, with the Sergeant wanting them on the road by 0600 hours. If they sleep now, they'll get a full six hours, a luxury for life on the front.

Bucky stays awake a while longer, carefully peeling the bandages off his arm. There's a small amount of blood staining the white, but when he removes the last layers, he finds the wound entirely healed, not that it had been very deep, replaced by a small red scar that will fade white by morning. He checks out his other bruising too, a small amount on his back, before lying down in his sleeping bag and closing his eyes.

While they sleep, Steve stays on guard. He gets out the maps and sits in the glow of his flashlight, studying the route and the towns and the lines he's drawn on it to show their intended strategies. After a while, however, Steve gets tired of it all and his eyes begin to sting. He rubs them, trying to rub away the tiredness, but it does no good.

He puts down the maps and instead, he gets out his compass, not to check their direction but to see Isabel's glowing smile looking up at him from the image inside. Steve finds himself smiling. He wishes he could talk to her, since it's been nine days since he's seen her. If only he could phone her or write her a letter and get the response straight away. He sighs and closes the compass, putting it back in his pocket. It's only making him sad.

Unbeknownst to Steve, Bucky is still awake. He lies in his sleeping back near Steve, watching him.

"You wish you could talk to her, right?" Bucky notes, breaking the silence.

Steve jumps a mile out of his skin. "Jesus, Buck! I thought you were asleep."

"Nope," Bucky says. He turns onto his back and crosses his arms under his head, looking up at the ceiling and the open hole that reveals the full moon above them. "I wish I could talk to Peg, too," he confides. "Miss her when we're apart. I can only pray she misses me the same amount. Or maybe I'm just a little sad."

"She misses you," Steve promises. "How could she not?"

"Yeah, alright," Bucky scoffs.

Steve looks over beside Bucky where his pack lies and notices some unopened letters that slightly stick out. Steve squints and just visible, he can see Winifred's handwriting.

"You ever going to open those letters, Buck?" Steve asks conversationally, looking back to the maps.

"Maybe."

"It's not normal, not reading letters from home," Steve pushes.

Bucky scoffs again. "Since when have things been normal?"

Steve huffs out a laugh. "You got me." He pauses then, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. "Are you afraid of bad news?"

"Nope, it's not that. I just… I don't open any new letters when I'm on a mission. I keep them in my pack where I can see them all the time, to remind me that there's someone in the world that's waiting for me. I wait until we get back to safety before I open them. It gives me an extra incentive to get back in one piece," Bucky explains. "And also, to not lose my pack."

"I thought the food in there would've been enough," Steve jokes.

"Hmm, touché." Bucky pauses for a moment. "You know, I was thinking. I got my unopened letters, you got your compass, but I heard about another tradition to make sure soldiers get home."

"What's that?" Steve asks curiously.

"Well, you can't die if you're wearing the wrong dog tags."

Steve looks at Bucky incredulously. "You can't swap dog tags. What if something happens?"

"That's the point, you don't let anything happen to you." Steve searches Bucky's eyes a moment, and he can tell Bucky is part-joking, part-superstitious, part-something else Steve can't name. "Come on, Rogers, trade with me," Bucky asks, untangling his silver dog tags from around his neck.

Steve hesitates before taking the tags from Bucky, looking at them a moment. Then, he unwraps his dog tags from his own neck and hands them over, putting Bucky's over his head and tucking it into his suit. It's a silent promise to each other that they'll make it back safely every time. Bucky's dog tags seem heavy against Steve's chest, but he feels somehow stronger, safer and braver.

Bucky looks satisfied, fiddling with the dog tags where they lie under his uniform. Bucky looks around at the men, then, most of them sleeping with mouths open. "You think they'll be alright?"

Steve looks up again from where he'd taken refuge in the maps. He looks at the men, and then turns his contemplative frown on Bucky, searching for something in his friend's eyes. "They're fine," Steve promises. "As long as they can gripe and duck and shoot, they'll be alright."

Bucky hesitates. "And what about you?"

Steve considers the question. "I'm fine, Buck. Of course, I am." He pauses. "What is this about?"

"Just making sure," Bucky says quietly.

"What about you then, Buck?" Steve asks carefully.

Steve watches as Bucky considers the question, frowns, and then looks away from Steve, staring back up at the rotting wood beams of the ceiling. "These guys wouldn't have been able to hold out until battalion showed up back in Villers-Bocage if we hadn't been there," Bucky says instead.

"Nope," Steve agrees. "Likely not."

"And taking Caen, they'll need all the strength they can get. Command wouldn't let them withdraw and the Germans sure as hell wouldn't let them surrender."

"Three for three," Steve says with a smile.

"If we stay, we'll make up the difference," Bucky nearly whispers.

Steve turns to face Bucky, frowning at him slightly. "You don't still think this is a waste of our God-given talents?" Steve asks, only slightly jokingly.

Bucky makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and another scoff. "Kind of think it all is. I was a pretty good hand at working at the docks, too."

Steve laughs. "And I was a pretty good artist," he agrees. There's a beat of silence. "Get some sleep, Buck. We got a long day tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Cap'n," Bucky says with a mock salute, rolling over in his sleeping bag to face away from Steve. "Night, Steve," he says, quieter this time.

"Night, Buck."


	47. Chapter 46

**46.**

 **Caen, France**

 **July 8th, 1944**

After an intense stalemate for most of the month of June, the Allies' efforts the penetrate the German forces in Caen prove futile. No matter which angle they attempt to attack from, they can't provide any openings. Multiple operations prove wasteful, leading only to the destruction of the Norman city and the death of many innocent civilians.

That leaves said citizens to begin cleaning up their loved but martyred city, despite the continuing occupancy by the Germans. The Germans bark at them, their words undecipherable. Nevertheless, the citizens go where they're instructed, and they clean up the rubble that's pointed out to them until eventually, the ruined streets resemble roads again rather than gravel.

Some buildings are destroyed, laying in heaps, but some of them are savable. One such is the home of young Frenchwoman Madeleine Dufresne and her daughter Emilie. Madeleine's husband is long gone, called up to fight for the French Resistance, but the card she'd received in the mail only three weeks ago had put a sudden halt to any daydreams she may have had of her husband returning home again.

Madeleine pushes a strand of brown curls from her face as she bends down, sweeping up the plaster that's fallen from the roof onto the floorboards with the rattling of the building in the bombings. Other than everything being coated in a fine layer of dust, a few upturned picture frames and the window in the kitchen being smashed, the house is relatively unharmed.

As she tips the dust into the garbage bag, Madeleine pauses at the familiar buzzing sound coming from the sky, far off in the distance. She's frozen with fear, listening as the droning noise of an aircraft flies over the top of the city, getting insanely loud and rattling the walls as it gets closer. She drops the brush and peers out the window, a sense of dread settling in her stomach, but her eyebrows rise in surprise when instead of dropping bombs or medical materials, the distinctly Allied plane spills out thousands of bright yellow leaflets. They rain down from the sky, floating to the ground as they're caught in the wind, and come to rest all over the streets like a meadow of daffodils growing in the middle of the bitumen.

Madeleine bursts out onto the street outside, along with hundreds of other citizens. She catches one of the pamphlets from mid-air, spinning it around to read it.

 _Urgent message TO THE INHABITANTS OF THIS CITY_

 _Dropped in a very inaccurate way the day of the strategic bombardments_

 _You who read this leaflet, are in or near to a major centre essential to the enemy for the movement of its troops and materiel. The vital objective close to you will be attacked without delay. There is an urgent need for you to leave the zone of danger where you are with your family for a few days._

 _Do not clog up the roads. Disperse to the countryside as much as possible._

 _LEAVE AT ONCE! YOU DO NOT HAVE A MINUTE TO LOSE!_

Instantly, chatter starts up between the people on the streets, debating whether or not to evacuate as the leaflets instruct. Some reassure that the town is not of importance. Others cry that for them to receive the leaflets, they must be in danger. A heated debate starts up, loud yelling in beautiful French, and it attracts the attention of the Germans, who come over to investigate the ruckus.

Madeleine feels her breath clog in her throat and her heart thud in her chest. They city's been bombed before and she can't see what would prevent it happening again, to draw the Germans from the city and prevent them from reaching the coast. She immediately goes back inside and shoves clothing and important documents and photo albums into a leather suitcase for her and her daughter, leaving the rooms destroyed in her haste.

Madeleine hoists the suitcase up into her grip and hurries along past the burgeoning crowds of terrified citizens that move in herds toward the evacuation points in the countryside and city's churches. Madeleine attempts to push through them, to get to the school a few streets over where Emilie is, but eventually the crowd gets too thick and she gets caught up. She's swept away with the masses of crying and terrified citizens, urged along by the police men who direct the flow of pedestrian traffic, finding herself being steered away from the school. She tries to cry out, screams for her daughter. A policeman on the edge of the crowd's bellowing voice cuts through the terrified murmuring, reassuring that they will all be safe.

The group splits at a cross roads, half of it heading toward the medieval tunnels on the outskirts of town that serve as shelters, the other half hurrying toward the Abbey of Saint-Étienne, the medieval-aged church that has been converted into a hospital to avoid bombing. A large white sheet sits atop the steeple, a red cross painted onto it in crimson blood to identify it as a makeshift hospital.

The crowd rushes through the large double doors and between the wooden pews under the arched beams of the high ceiling. The statue of Christ himself stands behind the altar with open arms, welcoming them all the sanctuary. Beside him, built into the ground, lies the remains of William the Conqueror, and the Allies wouldn't dare bomb the grave of an English king. The building is strong, the walls impenetrable, and the spirits of both sacred figures will surely protect the people.

The bombing begins a few hours later. They hear the buzzing of hundreds of planes flying overhead, low to the ground, and immediately there's the sound of gunfire as the Germans attempt to shoot down the planes. The first round of bombs is dropped in groups over the city, rocking the earth as though an earthquake had hit. Everyone screams. It's loud, the bombing, the explosions, the screaming, the crumbling of buildings, the scatter of rubble.

Within thirty minutes, the first lot of the wounded are brought into the Abbey, carried by their friends or by Allied soldiers, some of them dragging themselves. Quickly, the pews are occupied by the wounded, lying on them as medics and civilians struggle to save their lives, wrapping wounds and stanching blood loss.

One of the medics yells out to Madeleine and calls her over, slamming her hands over a bleeding gunshot wound to put pressure on the wound while he prepares his equipment. Madeleine kneels beside the panting woman, her hands covered in red, the blood dripping onto the tiled floor. The medic returns with tweezers and a scalpel, moves Madeleine's hands, and immediately digs into the woman to retrieve the bullet and shrapnel. Madeleine looks away, faint, the only thing anchoring her the woman's death grip on her hand.

Another round of bombs hit, closer this time, rattling the church's frame. The screaming and crying intensifies. The wounded moan in pain. A baby screams loudly in the corner, its mother rocking it with small sounds to hush it.

The inside of the church is packed, with hardly any room to move; too many people in one space at once. If the bomb hits the Abbey, despite it being a hospital, there'll be nowhere to run or hide. They're like fish in a barrel, and it's terrifying. All they can do is sit and wait and huddle together, say a silent prayer to the Lord himself, asking to be spared.

* * *

 **Outskirts of Caen, France**

 **July 8th, 1944**

Steve looks down at his watch. "Rise and shine, boys. Let's go."

Grumbling after their few hours of restless sleep, the Howling Commandos get up and start shouldering their gear. They step outside of their tents that they've set up and start to dismantle them, rolling the tarp and rods up into a size small enough to shove it back into their packs. Within five minutes, as though they'd done it before, the Commandos have all packed up their tents and gear and shouldered their packs, with rifles in hand, ready to move.

They walk over to join up with the rest of the infantry, who all look just as tired and ragged as them. They've all been out in the French countryside for over a month, encountering skirmish after skirmish and never really getting much closer to Caen itself. Multiple operations have failed, including ones to bomb the city to entice the Germans out, and all their plans of attack have proved futile. They're all tired and need rest with a proper bed and a good amount of food, but it's off the cards as of yet.

Steve and the Commandos could've called to be picked up, but as they've established, they'll be a massive help to the campaign, and they can't bring themselves to leave these men like that.

The Howling Commandos are only a small squad, but the six, heavily-armed men in full battle gear look formidable and intimidating. As they approach, the rest of the infantry watch, but in fascination and fear.

They can hear small arms fire and distant artillery booms echoing from the surrounding villages and from Caen not far in the distance. They can see, through the air, the plane flying over the city, the bombs dropping down on the buildings. Flashes of light and mushroom-shaped explosion appear on the horizon repeatedly. The sky looks like its on fire. The air trembles, and a rumbling sound like thunder rolls of the countryside like a tidal wave.

The magnitude of it all is incredible, strange, otherworldly. Every man is transfixed. They're frozen in place as the lights play on their faces.

Bucky looks down and sees his hand is quivering. He quickly balls it into a fists and squeezes, willing the shakes to leave. When he flattens out his hand, it's still, and he quickly grabs up his rifle in both hands again. He looks up and Steve is looking at him with worry, but he says nothing about it.

"Makes you feel small, doesn't it?" Steve says instead, looking back to the blazing sky.

"It doesn't take this," Bucky replies quietly.

"I wasn't made for this," a small voice says from behind them. Steve and Bucky turn around to see a young boy standing with his friends behind them, his face morphed into an expression of terror, every inch of his body shaking. He can't be older than nineteen, short and small with a tousle of dark curls atop his head, sticking up from under his helmet. "I-I can't. I'm not made for this."

"You think the rest of us were?" Bucky barks at him bitterly, his own fear shining though. The young man recoils and Bucky instantly regrets his words. Bucky takes a deep breath. "Don't worry, pal," Bucky says, much more gently, and the boy relaxes. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder. "What's your name, kid? You believe in God?"

The boy nods. "Private Alden, sir. And yes, sir, I do."

"Then God'll protect you. This shit would have kept him up all night, anyway," Bucky jokes, and the boy manages to smile. "If you doubt that, you can stick with us, if you want. Captain Rogers here loves it when other people use him as a human shield," Bucky offers, pointing to Steve.

The boy looks slightly confused, but his eyes widen at the sight of Steve in his Captain America costume. "O-okay. Thank you, sir."

Bucky smiles and pats the boy's shoulder one last time for good measure. He turns back to his men just as Sergeant Anderson moves to the front.

"Let's go, they don't pay us to watch the show," Anderson barks.

Instantly, the men follow his lead in a synchronised march toward Caen just over the hill. And if Bucky notices that Private Alden sticks closest to him, he doesn't say anything.

* * *

By the time the unit reaches the city, the liberation has already begun. Most of the troops have already headed into the city's streets, despite the fact that the bombers are still flying low over the city.

The Commandos and the infantry, some two-thousand soldiers they've managed to gather together in the last month with reinforcements, sit hiding in the trees on the outskirts of Caen watching as the bombers fly low over the city. The bombs drop from the bellies of the planes with a loud roar before hitting the city, lighting up the land in blasts of red and yellow.

For hours the planes have dropped bombs, over and over, and now the onslaught is nearing its end so that all of the foot soldiers and tanks can move in. Some of the planes have been hit by return fire from the Germans within the city, from both tanks and machine guns. They've crash landed in the fields around the city, smoke rising off in the distance from the burning vehicles.

Still, explosion after explosion, fireball after fireball, the city is slowly but efficiently flattened into rubble. Debris flies everywhere into the sky. The air turns black with smoke, the smell of burning wood and rubber and plastic filling their noses.

The wait, just watching, feels like an eternity. Everyone looks terrified, their eyes wide and their hands trembling. Beads jingle as Dernier busily worries his rosary beads, mumbling prayers under his breath in French. Monty admires a picture of his wife back home, looking so life like she could almost bounce off the paper. Steve pulls out his compass one last time to see his Isabel. Sergeant Anderson has a steely expression, smoking away at a cigarette. And Private Alden is still loyally beside Bucky, crouched beside him, and looking terrified, the light of the fire reflecting in his dark eyes.

Bucky glances around at the hundreds of other soldiers around him, illuminated in shadows beneath the tree canopy. Hundreds of men who look around in a mix of anxiety, calm, and heart-stopping fear. What waits for them in the city, after all, is undeniably worse than what they've been facing the last few weeks, waiting to reach the main fight. The soldiers enjoy the purgatory-like existence, even if it only lasts a few drawn out moments, before they'll crash headlong into the lands of hell and meet the devil himself.

Then suddenly, the four-hundred or so planes turn around in the air and flee back toward London, empty of ammo.

At a yell from Sergeant Anderson, the soldiers push forward to join those already within the city. Steve runs at the front of the group with his shield raised, a light for the men to follow through the darkness. They run from the outskirts of the city into the smoking streets, thankfully bustling with German advancement rather than the Caen civilians. They can barely see far in front of them, can just make out silhouettes and bodies on the ground, but slowly the smoke clears to reveal the wreckage of a once beautiful city.

Bucky sticks as close to Steve as he can, his legs pumping to keep up, and practically drags Alden along with him to keep the boy close. They're all close enough that they bump into each other with each step, their rifles clinking against each other every now and then.

Slowed by the rubble, the Allies' entrance into the city is slackened significantly. However, they utilise the debris as barricades to fire from behind, to reload, to gather their wits and their breath. The Germans fire back using the same technique, setting up debris and abandoned buildings as posts for their defence. As the Allies move through, attempting to push the Germans out of the city, a lot of the men go down to gunshot wounds and grenade fire, hitting the ground with a thud. There's a lot of yelling, but it's drowned out by gunfire, their semi-automatics singing as they let out rounds of bullets.

The infantry separates into groups automatically, as though they'd practised it, to move through the city. The Commandos, plus a few tag-alongs from the infantry, set off down the main street of the town.

In the clock tower ahead, Bucky just spots the glint of metal – a sniper. The sniper takes aim and Bucky yells out, quickly pulling Alden and Dernier and diving through the smashed window of a burnt-out pub just as a shot rings out, hitting one of the infantry men standing beside them. The Commandos jump aside at Bucky's yell, and then the rest of the men copy suit, hiding in the shopfronts along the main street.

"God dammit," Bucky hisses, looking at the man who'd been standing beside them.

He hurriedly gets his rifle ready and sets it up with help from Dernier, getting into a position in which he can see the sniper atop the clock tower but not be shot himself. Bucky takes a few deep breaths and calms himself, looks through the scope, and thinks of nothing but his target. He lines it up and waits for the sniper to move, and he does. His head appears right in the middle of the cross within the scope, and Bucky pulls the trigger. The gun lets off an almighty bang, the sniper jolts backward, and two seconds later, the body topples from the window of the clock tower to the ground below.

" _Nice, Buck_ ," comes Steve voice over the intercom.

" _We moving on?"_ Bucky asks.

Steve, who is a few shops up from Bucky, has a better view of what's ahead of them. " _Not yet,_ " Steve says. " _Germans are coming."_

They've got a perfect view of the street from their hiding spots within the shop fronts, and as the Germans troop down the street between them, they shoot from their hideout. The Germans don't even see them, haven't even a second to radio it in before they're torn up by gunfire. Bucky, Dernier and Alden cover each other as they reload, slamming the magazines back into the compartment. The Germans go down quickly, it being about twelve of them to the fifteen or so Allies in the area, and the street falls silent again.

" _Let's go,"_ Steve says into the radio.

Bucky nods to the others, readjusting his helmet on his head. They stand then and run back out into the street, meeting up with the others. They make their way along the edges of the buildings, searching for any hiding enemies. It takes a long while before they find anyone, thinking perhaps they chose a dud area of the city to invade. There's an odd German here and there, but Bucky's skills with the rifle take them down as soon as they round the corner.

Within the rubble, the Germans have hidden land mines, dangerous and lurking in wait. None of them notice them, surprisingly, until Alden makes note of the familiar disc shape planted to the ground.

"Stop!" Steve calls, and everyone pauses where they are.

They look around and notice they're surrounded by them on every angle, buried beneath the rubble. It'll be a maze to get out, and they're lucky they made it this far in their naivety without being blown up. It explains why this area of the city is so abandoned.

One of the men from the infantry panics. He sprints away like lightning, a belt of bullets hung around his neck. He doesn't make it far when he runs over the top of a rubble pile. Everyone else dives to the ground, covering their heads. A second later, the mine explodes at waist level, sending the soldier flying into the air every which way with a sprinkle of individual bullets to go with it. A hand falls a few metres from them. Alden makes a gagging sound.

Wary of their exposure in the middle of the street, Bucky hurries up and pushes on Steve's back to get him to move. "We can't stay here. We're sitting ducks."

"Agreed."

Steve leads them in a careful hurry across the road, dodging the rubble piles, toward a darkened alleyway on the other side which will allow them to cut through to the next street and get out of the area. They stick close together, rifles raised against any attackers.

Suddenly, Private Alden trips over his own boots, falling dangerously close to a protruding landmine. Bucky doubles back and grabs him under the arms, his nose only a few inches from the mine. The boy is so shocked he barely moves, his body stiff. Bucky lifts him upright, half-carrying and half-dragging him to safety. He can see how terrified the boy is, and he's got the image of what he thinks the man's mother would look like burned into his mind and he's got to get Alden to safety.

Steve and the others make it to the alley. Steve hurries them through, pointing Monty and Jones to the other end where they can see a group of Allied soldiers standing, in a skirmish against a group of Germans. They run down the narrow and dark alleyway to offer their assistance.

Steve turns when Bucky hasn't passed him yet, seeing Alden terrified and hysterical in Bucky's arms. Steve moves forward to offer a hand, when he freezes.

"Bucky, stop!" Steve yells, but it's too late.

Alden, in his panic, is walking with wide footsteps as Bucky drags him along. His foot flicks out and hits a large piece of rubble, which knocks into a lazy landmine waiting underneath, only visible from where Steve stands. Any scream that might have escaped Steve is lodged in his throat like a bullet. He sees Bucky's face fall in realisation of what's happened, Alden's petrified scream, and then the world explodes in a mass of rubble and fire and heat, throwing Steve backward with the force of it. He smacks into the wall of the building, a throbbing pain moving through the back of his head, and his word goes black before he hits the dirty ground.

* * *

Steve wakes up, and he isn't entirely sure how long he's been out. He sits up slowly, his head aching, and when he touches the back of his head, his hair is slick with blood. His stomach also aches, and Steve looks down, seeing a patch of blood starting underneath his uniform.

It all floods back pretty quickly and his eyes snap up to the scene in front of him. There's blood everywhere and not far from where Alden and Bucky had been standing lies Alden, on the ground, bleeding out from a sizeable hole in his stomach. The bomb, "a bouncing betty", exploded at gut height, with fragments penetrating up to twenty yards out from where it exploded.

Steve crawls along the ground over to Alden, appearing over the boy. He's shaking all over, and he grabs up Steve's hand when he offers it. The amount of blood is incredible since the torso of the human body is packed with blood vessels. There's nothing anyone can do for someone hit so close to the blast zone, not even with medical care. The boy will bleed out quickly. Alden takes a few strangles breaths, his eyes wide as he stares up at Steve for help.

"You'll be okay. You'll be okay," Steve promises, hushing him until the boy takes his final breath.

Steve sighs and clamps his eyes shut, taking a few seconds to stabilise himself. Then, he pulls off one of Alden's dog tags and puts it in his own pocket.

This is the exact purpose of the mine, Steve realises – not to kill instantly, but to injure, and to take both the victim and those surrounding him out of the game. But this game is different, because Steve and Bucky are enhanced.

Steve looks up and spots Bucky a few yards away, lying on his stomach. Steve hurries over to him, staying low to the ground. He puts a hand on Bucky's back first and feels the hitched breath that makes his back rise and fall. He breathes a sigh of relief, but they aren't out of the woods, not by a long shot.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, leaning over to look at Bucky's face. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed in pain, cheek squashed up against a piece of rubble. "Buck, wake up!"

Steve pushes gently on Bucky's shoulder and turns him onto his back so he can inspect the damage. Bucky's got some bleeding on his torso from the mine's impact, but he's also got a massive gash across his forehead where a bruise is starting to form already. Steve realised Bucky must have dived away from the mine at the last second, trying to stay low to the ground, as being lower to the ground increases the chances of surviving a blast from this kind of bomb. Being so close, the blast likely would have still been lethal had Bucky not been enhanced, and still could be for all Steve knows. And the force still would have thrown Bucky, likely headfirst, into the rubble.

"Buck, wake up, talk to me," Steve asks.

He pats Bucky's cheek to try to get him to wake up. When he doesn't, Steve tries rubbing the area on his chest above his sternum, trying to get something out of him. Bucky comes to with a strangled breath and immediately his face screws up in pain, clutching his stomach. Steve hurriedly pulls up Bucky's shirt and jacket, which has been blasted into pieces and singed, and finds some severe puncture wounds in Bucky's stomach, moving around to his back. Steve just prays he doesn't have a magnitude of internal bleeding to go with it, but by all rights he should.

"It's okay, Buck, I'm going to get you help," Steve promises.

He stands carefully and puts his hands under Bucky's shoulders and knees, lifting his friend bridal-style. He'd lift Bucky over his shoulder to free up his hands more, but the pressure on his stomach would be too much. Even this movement makes Bucky groan, but he holds in his scream of pain by clenching his teeth.

Steve starts off through the streets toward the makeshift hospital they'd passed on the way through, set up in the ancient cathedral. His feet can hardly carry him fast enough. He's just glad they're travelling through the parts of the city where the Germans have already been cleared out, moving away from the action.

Bucky's got a sheen of sweat across his forehead mixing with the massive amounts of blood by the time Steve gets him to the Abbey. Steve hurries up the front steps and bursts in through the doors, met immediately with a scene of chaos. The church pews have been converted into beds for the wounded and the medics are running between patients with equipment in hands. There's an awful lot of screaming and crying. A baby is squealing in the far corner. And the poor civilians are helping the medics, their hands covered in blood and their faces terrified and green.

"Someone, help!" Steve calls into the cathedral, his voice echoing along with everyone else's.

He hurries Bucky over to a free pew and lays his friend down. Within seconds, a medic is by his side, his arm laden with tools and equipment and bandages.

"Landmine. German SS. He dived but he still got hit," Steve explains quickly.

The medic, an American soldier, nods and quickly gets to work. He rips off Bucky's shirt and jacket and starts patching up the wounds, staunching the blood flow. Steve hurriedly grabs up a spare piece of cloth and wipes the blood from Bucky's pained face, getting most of it where it's dripping down his eyes and into his mouth and coating his hair. Then, Steve presses the cloth to the wound itself with a bit of pressure. Bucky's wincing under their hands, the pain getting too much for him.

"How'd we ge' here? I'm havin' a real bad day again, Stevie," Bucky slurs, his eyes wide with pain and terror. He looks around at the roof of the cathedral, obviously not able to remember Steve carrying him halfway across the city.

"Yeah, pal, you are."

"Had 'im on the ropes."

Steve suppresses his laugh. "The landmine? Jeez, Buck."

"You gotta go back 'n' fight," Bucky tells Steve, frowning at him disapprovingly. "Leave me, 'm fine."

Steve tries to argue, but the medic agrees with Bucky, claiming he can stabilise the bleeding. Steve promises to be back as soon as possible and leaves the cathedral with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. The last thing he sees is the medic calling over a young French woman, asking her to clean the wound on Bucky's forehead a little more. Steve steps back outside into the loudness of the explosions and gunfire. He closes the doors of the cathedral behind him again, hoping they'll block it all out for the poor people inside.

* * *

By the end of the day and after a lot of fighting, shooting, reloading, searching for more ammo, clearing bodies and avoiding landmines, the Allies gain full control of Caen once again and the city is officially liberated after nearly four years of German occupation.

As soon as Steve is able, he plans to hurry back to the cathedral. It's been hours since the fighting officially ended, but technically he's a Captain so the soldiers from all infantries have been coming to him for instruction, particularly those who can't find their own superior officers. They'd begun clean up of the bodies and of the streets, and Steve had radioed for a bomb squad to come to remove the mines from the city streets. Steve had then taken it upon himself to search around to find all the bodies and collect up a dog tag to take to their commanding officers. By the end he has an entire pouch full, weighing heavily on him from where it hangs from his belt.

Steve then gathers up the Howling Commandos and makes sure none of them are injured, but thankfully they have all been spared apart from a few scrapes and bruises, nothing Morita hasn't been able to patch up.

"Where's Serge?" Morita asks.

"He and Alden stepped on a landmine," Steve says quietly. "Buck will be fine, but… Alden's gone." He takes a deep breath. "I'll go find Bucky again, see how he's doing and bring him back if he's alright. You guys see what you can do to help out around here. Don't split up, we'll never find each other again."

The men nod and head off into the crowd together, particularly to the sound of screaming in a building off to their right. Steve isn't even twenty seconds down the road before he hears someone frantically calling for him.

"Cap! Cap, wait!"

Steve recognises it as Morita and he spins around, immediately believing something to be wrong. "What's wrong?"

"That building over there, it's a schoolhouse," Morita explains, pointing to the building the screaming had been coming from. "They've been evacuating it, but there's a whole lot of kids trapped inside by a fallen beam in the back room. We can't get in."

Steve hurries with Morita, sprinting back toward the schoolhouse. On the front lawn are a squad of soldiers, each of them holding one of the children, the rest of the Commandos among them. They're all black with ash and smoke, their clothes and skin discoloured, and a few of them are coughing from inhaling the smoke. They're all crying, mainly, and the soldiers are attempting to calm them, offering them food and stories and songs.

Steve and Morita get inside, and the building is a fiery mess, flames coming from every corner. The roof has caved in from a shell that landed on it, the floor in one classroom with a massive hole to the basement below.

"Wait outside with the others," Steve tells Morita, watching as the man scurries safely back outside.

Steve wraps a piece of cloth around his mouth to keep the smoke from his lungs and then heads deeper into the building. The smoke is thick enough that he can barely see, so Steve ducks low and runs along the hallways to the back room, the only room to not have been evacuated of children yet.

The room is so hot it brings a sweat to Steve's forehead immediately. He spots the three children in the back corner of the classroom, sitting under a metal desk. They're screaming, loudly, and coughing more and more with every breath they take. They're trapped there by a large pile of debris and a metal beam that's fallen from the roof, blocking the path in and out and taking up most of the room.

Steve crawls under one of the smaller exposed beams, far enough off the ground he can just squeeze himself under. As he does he puts a hand down on a broken piece of metal so hot from the flames it burns the skin on his hand. He hurries onward, dodging the flames, and comes to a stop before the largest beam. Putting two hands under it, Steve braces himself and then lifts with all his might, the beam climbing off the ground above his head. Balancing on one leg, Steve uses his other leg to kick the rubble out the way, giving the children a clear path to climb through to reach him.

"Come! Quickly!" Steve grunts, the thick metal beam making his arms strain.

The children quickly crawl quickly through the mess, one after the other, their faced terrified. As soon as they're clear, Steve lets the beam drop carefully, but it still makes a loud thud on the floor, cracking the flimsy wood. Steve takes the large piece of fabric from his mouth, rips it into three, and places it over the children's mouths. Then, he scoops the three children up, who can't be older than eight, juggling them all in his arms. They weight almost nothing compared to the beam.

" _Quelqu'un d'autre? (Anyone else?_ )" Steve asks them, and they shake their heads.

At that, Steve starts off to the outside. He jumps the beam this time, just clearing it, and then runs with the children as close to the ground as he can to stop the smoke. He makes it outside into the fresh air just as the building comes down entirely behind them, the roof of the hallway crashing to the floor and the roof of the building collapsing in on itself with a blast of smoke that billows out into the street. Steve stops and turns back once he's in the clear, watching the building be demolished by the fire. Only a few more seconds and they wouldn't have made it out.

Immediately, Morita is by Steve's side, and he takes one of the children from his hands. Jones takes another, leaving Steve holding a small brunette girl.

"They need a medic, now," Morita says, leading them away from the school toward the abbey where Steve had left Bucky. "They've been in there much longer than anyone else. They could have severe smoke inhalation."

They hurry through the town, the crying children in their hands. Steve gets a good look at the girl in his arms, but she doesn't seem to injured from his point of view. He knows she could have internal injuries, but she's lacking many bruises or cuts, only covered in a layer of ash. She makes eye contact with him as she walks and clasps her arms around Steve's neck, burrowing her head as she cries. Steve holds on a little tighter.

They burst through the doors of the abbey, but no one looks up. It's even busier and more packed than it had been when Steve was here a few hours ago, and the medics look impossibly more frazzled. Steve can't help the fear that shoots through him when he looks over to where he'd left Bucky and he isn't there anymore. He's about to panic and call out for Bucky, when–

"Serge!" Morita says with a smile.

Steve snaps around to look where Morita is, and spots Bucky sitting up against the wall to their left, having given his pew to someone in more need. The woman who had been called over to help Bucky's injuries is still sitting with Bucky, offering him a cup of water and holding a cloth to Bucky's head to cool him off. Bucky's talking to her, looking reminiscent, and Steve thinks he's probably telling her a story.

Bucky looks up at Morita's words and instantly he smiles. The woman looks up too, her face one of recognition as she looks at the men who Bucky must have told her about. Her eyes snap to Steve, and then widen at who sits in his arms. The woman cries out in anguish and jumps up, her dark curls bouncing as she runs over to them.

Madeline's feet can't carry her fast enough across the busy abbey to the Captain, who holds in his arms her little Emilie. She'd been so worried for her daughter, being stuck at the school, but she hadn't the bravery to go out into the fighting to find her. The Captain has a blood-stained face, but kind eyes, and when Madeline approaches he taps the girl on her back, coaching her to look up from where her face is buried in his neck.

Madeline takes her child from Steve's arms and wraps her up in her own embrace, cupping the back of her daughter's head and pressing a longing kiss to her forehead. She can't help the tears of relief that escape her. Emilie cries as well, clutching her mother's neck tightly. She's coughing, a haggard sort of sound like she's been a smoke for thirty years.

Madeline looks up at the young Captain, his haunted expression. He offers her a small smile, but it doesn't come from the soul. She looks him up and down, at the uniform she never thought she'd see in person, but her eyes pause on the pouch attached to his belt full to the brim of blood-spattered dog tags. Her eyes turn soft with pity.

"Merci," she whispers to Steve. "Merci."

Madeline practically flies into his arms, hugging him tightly around the neck, Emilie between them. Steve pauses only a moment before gently hugging her back, wary of the way she cries against his shoulder, loud in his ear. She presses a sweet French kiss to his cheek to his bloodied cheek in thanks.

Steve manages a smile. "You're welcome."

* * *

After Morita has explained to Madeline what happened to her daughter, Madeline hustles her daughter over to a medic to get her checked over. The woman is eternally grateful for what the Commandos have done for her. Morita and Jones then move off to take the children around and find their own parents, hoping they're still alive, meeting up with Monty and the others outside where they still wait at the school.

While they're off, Steve walks over to Bucky and takes a seat beside his friend. "How you feelin', Buck?" Steve asks quietly.

"I'm okay," Bucky promises. "The explosion knocked me out, that's why I was so dopey. Medic reckons I have a concussion. Stomach's a bit banged up and cut up, but I'll be fine. It'll heal." Bucky pauses then, looking thoughtful. "I got lucky, Steve."

"Yeah, I guess you did," Steve agrees.

"The kid…?"

Steve shakes his head. "There was nothing I could do."

Bucky nods. "I didn't think so. I don't even know how I survived it. I must have jumped down just fast enough. That poor kid, he had no idea what hit him."

It's all a little blurry for Bucky, which he thinks is probably from the concussion – running for cover from any approaching Germans, the landmine, jumping to the side, being thrown forward, waking up covered in a blanket of debris, Steve carrying him to the abbey, the medic stitching his stomach up. Now, there's a throbbing pain both around his entire stomach and in his forehead from the massive gash along his hairline. It's wrapped up now in a thick bandage that's hot against his head. Bucky puts his head in his hands to try to dull it.

"I wish I could have done something," Steve mumbles. "All I could do was stand there and watch. I was so sure you were gone."

"That's war, Steve. You can't save anything. Something like that happens too quick. You can't do anything. That's what they're designed for."

"I know, but I–" Steve cuts off and puts his head in his hands.

"You haven't lost that many of your own men, Steve. You get used to it after a while. You learn how to deal with it and put it behind you," Bucky tells him.

Steve looks exhausted and beside himself. He unclips the pouch from his belt and shows Bucky just how many dog tags he's collected, how many dead comrades he had to look at to be able to take them for their families. "How? How do you do it? How do you deal with it?" Steve asks, entirely broken. "Because I honestly have no idea."

"Well, because of my mother," Bucky says.

Steve frowns. "What about her?"

"You remember how my grandfather was a great poker player?" Steve nods. "My grandfather taught my Ma everything he knew. She's one of the best poker players you ever saw. Before the Depression, Dad used to go to Saturday night games with friends and lose a bit of money. One day, Dad gets sick, but he still wants to play, so Ma goes with him and helps him out, sits at the table for him and just does what he asks. But then she started playing for herself and from that first night, she never lost. Not once. She could read the men like an open book. And her bluffs? She had sixteen levels of bullshit – her eyes, the tone of her voice, her bets, her jokes, the way she drank her coffee, all of it was mastered. She won more money on shit hands than Dad made on a great one. She won back all the money Dad ever lost and a hellava lot more. And then, when I got older, she taught me all of it, even when she didn't play anymore. That's why I was always so good when we played." Bucky pauses and licks his lips. He looks Steve dead in the eye, then. "I can look at a man's face and tell you exactly what cards he's holding, and if it's a shit hand, I know what cards to deal him to make it a little easier on him."

Steve frowns at that. Bucky knows how to fix someone else's problem, how to help a comrade through a hard time, how to convince the men to behave while still remaining friendly with them. But he still hasn't explained how he himself deals with things. "What about your own hand?" Steve asks, keeping with the metaphor Bucky's using.

"Easy; a pair of deuces, less? I bluff," Bucky says with a shrug. "It used to tear me apart when one of my men got killed, but what was I supposed to do? Break down in front of the ones waiting for me to lead them? Of course not, so I bluffed, and after a while I started to fall for it myself. It made everything so much easier."

"Is that why your hand's been shaking?" Steve asks quietly, eyeing Bucky curiously.

Bucky shrugs again, looking down at the offending limb. "It could be worse. You know the first thing they teach you at O.C.S? Lie to your men. Well, not in so many words, but they tell you that you can have all the firepower in the world, but if your men have bad morale, you'll never win. If you're scared or empty of half-a-step from a section eight, you don't tell your men. You bluff, you lie."

"And how do you bluff yourself?"

"Numbers. Every time one of your men gets killed, you tell yourself you just saved the lives of two, three, ten, a hundred others. You lost, what, fifteen men breaking the one-oh-seventh of Hydra? I'll bet we saved ten times that number by getting those men out, because they either rejoined the fight or went home to their families, and we took down all those Hydra goons, who would have no doubt gone on to kill others. Three hundred men, maybe five hundred, a thousand, ten thousand you saved. Any number you want. See? It's simple, Stevie." Bucky explains, as though it is the easiest thing in the world. "It lets you always choose the mission over men."

"It's a little harder when there's people on my missions I'd never want to lose," Steve notes.

"That's the rub, ain't it," Bucky laughs. "If me and Dugan were both standing in front of you and you had to shoot one or the other, how do you choose?"

"You know who I'd chose," Steve tells Bucky. "It would be hard, but if I had to, I would. I'd save you."

"You know why?" Bucky asks.

"Why?"

"Because that's the way it's always been. That's always been our mission, to look after each other, and to look after our families. And sometimes, when something's been a mission of yours for so long, it's impossible to override it, even if it means you doing the wrong thing."


	48. Chapter 47

**47.**

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **July 12th, 1944**

The Howling Commandos have only returned from the front for a few days before Colonel Phillips sends them off again, this time back to their usual agenda of taking down Hydra. The coordinates of a Hydra facility in Hamburg have been discovered and the plans have been made. All that's left is to wait for the time for them to depart.

The morning of, only a few hours before they're leaving, Isabel schedules a meeting with Doctor Lewis to see if she is cleared to go. She's been off her crutches for nearly three weeks now and she can walk without much pain, making her way around the infirmary and treating patients with little trouble. She spent most of June in the infirmary and in Howard's labs trying to distract herself while Steve, Bucky and the Commandos were out fighting in Normandy. That had been a long, long month. She hadn't heard anything from them since they were out with an infantry trying to make their way in to liberate Caen.

Dugan had been a little bummed, for some reason, about missing out on that mission. He'd still been in a cast when they'd left, but Isabel had taken his cast off about two weeks in, screening him and passing him to return to duty. He'd had to stay around the base for the remaining two weeks waiting for them. He'd been especially disappointed the night they'd returned to base and they'd all gone to celebrate at the Stork Club. They'd all shared tales of their adventures and of the fighting, which hadn't seemed too inviting until Morita had told him about his experience with the French woman who worked in the lingerie store.

As much as their tales of fighting had been terrifying and a gruesome, Isabel can't wait to get back out. She knows going out into the field will be a little different to working in the infirmaries, but she thinks she can do it.

Steve had spent a few minutes the night before they were scheduled to depart in a corner booth of the bustling Stork Club trying to talk her out of it. The dim lighting and their proximity had been a little too distracting for Isabel to listen, especially after their elongated time apart, and she was all too intent on collecting his plump red lips with her own. He'd just laughed and pushed her off, making sure she listened. Clearly what had happened to her was still playing on his mind.

"Belle, just think about it. You go back out there and your leg starts to pain you, it's going to be hell trying to make it back," he'd said, his voice low and anxious. "If we get caught in a dangerous position, if we have to run and fight, are you going to be able to?"

"Yeah, Steve, I will," Isabel had argued, frowning at him. "Worst case scenario, I can just jump on your back and you can carry me to make up for all these weeks where you refused to and then when you weren't here to anyway."

Steve had laughed at that, but his expression had still been serious. He'd been sure to point out if she needed piggy-backing, she wasn't ready for the field. "You don't see me piggy-backing any of the others. You don't get any special treatment."

"Oh, please. We both know I do," Isabel had said over a sip of whiskey, raising an eyebrow at Steve. "I'm your favourite, followed by Bucky. Don't even try to deny it. Besides, why aren't you talking Bucky out of it? He was concussed and beaten up by a landmine only four days ago!"

"Super serum, Belle. Remember?"

"Right."

Isabel shakes her head at Steve's worry from the night before as she makes her way into the infirmary. She meets Doctor Lewis in his temporary office and he ushers her in, sitting her on the examination bed in the corner. He tests her range of motion, examines the wound which has luckily healed nicely with only a small scar, gets her to walk up and down the hallway, and then to run, something she hasn't tried yet. As soon as she runs, she feels a bit of a pain in her hamstring, and when he asks her to jump, she doesn't make it far without a grimace.

"I'm sorry," Lewis says sympathetically. "I'm going to say no on this one. You go out there too soon, you could cause further, permanent damage and none of us want that. Sit this one out and jump on the next one."

Isabel resists the urge to pout and accepts her fate. "Hopefully I'll be able to jump by then. Thanks, Doctor," she says politely.

She stands from the bed and leaves the infirmary, walking as confidently and pridefully as she can. It isn't the news she'd been hoping for, that now she has to wait again, but she's just grateful she's being cleared to go back at all. Phillips could easily have looked at her records, seen a glimpse of the breakdown she'd had with Bucky that night in the infirmary, and sent her home with an honourable discharge and a ticket to a psychiatrist's office.

Just one mission and she can join them again. She knows the days they're away will go quickly, they usually do when she finds things to occupy her time, but knowing they're going back into enemy territory with only one medic is unsettling. What if something goes wrong? What if Morita gets hurt again, or what if they suffer a lot of injuries and Morita can't keep up? The multitude of terrible outcomes runs through her head as she walks through the corridors to the elevator and up to the lobby, and it makes her doubt her gratefulness.

Perhaps she could just pretend she was cleared and go with them? It'd take hours for the nurses and Phillips to realise she was gone and another long while to contact them, and by that time they'd be too far into enemy territory to force her to return. Her leg, though, gives her a painful twinge at that moment, clearly a sign that her body is saying no. She sighs and resigns to her fate.

The Commandos are all standing around in the lobby waiting for her to come back with the verdict, their weapons readied and their packs full. Surprisingly, Peggy is there as well to tag along, wearing her combat gear. When Isabel exits the elevator they all turn to her.

"What was the verdict, Baby Barnes?" Dugan asks.

"I'm not cleared this time, fellas and lady," she says with a sad smile.

"Damn, we better not get shot, then," Jones laughs. "Morita might just let us bleed out with how much we've been teasing him lately."

"Yous better watch out," Morita says, rubbing his hands together with a devilish smirk.

Steve comes up to Isabel. He's wearing the new uniform Howard hurriedly designed for him, made of similar material and style to his last, only hopefully this one really is fireproof. Steve had left Howard's lab with strict instructions not to get caught on anymore serrated edges of a burning, blown up plane, and to try to stay away from the fire. The uniform looks good on him, maybe even better than the last, and Isabel bites her bottom lip, looking up at Steve as he looks down at her, apologetic.

"I'll be fine," Isabel promises before he can speak, choosing not to show her disappointment, or else he'll spend the entire mission worrying for her. "You all be careful. I don't want any major injuries when you get back. Look after each other." She looks over to Bucky then, pointing to Peggy. "Bucky, you bring my friend back unharmed, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bucky says, giving her a salute and pulling Peggy just a little bit closer.

"Well, goodbye then," Steve says with a smile.

"I'll see you soon," Isabel promises.

Steve leans forward, kissing her with a cheeky smile, his hand coming up to hold the back of her head, tangling in her hair. After a few moments of bliss, they hear a wolf-whistle from behind them, though they can't tell who it is. Steve moves to pull away, his cheeks red with embarrassment, but Isabel grabs his neck and pulls him back in, making him elicit a small noise of surprise. She kisses him with a bit more urgency and he winds his hand around her waist, playing along. When she slips a tongue in for the sake of it, the Commandos cheer a little louder and Steve goes a little redder. They finally pull apart and Steve looks breathless, his eyes wide and his cheeks as dark as a tomato.

"One for the road," Isabel tells him with a wink and the famous Barnes smirk.

She watches as he turns around, a little stunned, to his men who all clap him on the back and cheer right in his ear. She shakes her head at them as Bucky puts an arm over Steve's shoulder, steering him out the lobby doors with a wave to his sister. Bucky's other hand pulls Peggy along behind him, who eventually pushes to the front of the group and leads them. Isabel waves back as they all leave, the ruckus moving outside and the lobby falling into a dismal silence once again.

Isabel sighs, turning around and getting back into the elevator. She rides it back to the basement and walks through the corridors, past the bustling SSR agents, to Howard's lab. She walks in and finds the inventor standing by a prototype gun, propped up on a stand on one of the tables in the middle of the room. When he hears her, Howard turns around with a smile.

"Hey, doll," he greets, but his smile quickly turns into a frown. "Why the long face?"

"Howie, distract me please. They've gone away again," Isabel begs, walking straight up to her inventor friend.

"Back to this, are we, doll? It's been a while since you got left behind. You weren't cleared to go along?"

"No, Lewis said I had to wait for the next one," Isabel says, pouting a little childishly. She feels it, too, but can't really bring herself to care. She worked so hard, doing her exercises and keeping off her leg hoping to be ready for the mission and now she's missing out.

Howard laughs at her pouting bottom lip. "Cut it out, Is, someone will think I'm not treatin' you right. You've convinced me, I'll distract you. But first, how's the leg?"

"It's going good. Doesn't hurt so much anymore. The scar's a little unsightly, but, eh," Isabel says, shrugging her shoulders.

"You're still beautiful," Howard reassures her. "Alright, first distraction. Come here, tell me what you think of this," he tells her, leading her attention to the prototype gun.

She looks at the weapon critically and curiously. It's big and bulky with a thick barrel, the metal freshly polished and shining in the light. It looks familiar though, and Isabel recognises it from one of the blueprints Howard had drawn up – it's a gun for Dernier to use to blow things up modelled off of Peggy's pistol. She knows Dernier is going to love it the second he lays eyes on it.

"This is for Dernier, right? He said he wanted a gun like Peggy's on my first visit into the depths of Hydra," Isabel asks.

"Sure is. It fires like a usual gun, you know, safety and trigger and all that. There is a mode for shooting your regular bullet, so he can replace his old Thompson with this beauty. But when you flick this switch, instead of firing bullets, it fires these," Howard says, handing her a small spherical object. It almost looks like a grenade, but it's made of smooth metal, cool to the touch in her hand.

"A bomb?" She guesses, remembering how Peggy's bullets had seen those three men explode where they stood.

"Yep. You're holding one of the most powerful, compact explosive devices known to man, courtesy of _moi_." Isabel's eyes widen slightly, and she quickly hands it back. "It's tiny, so he'll be able to hold spares in his pack, and the gun itself stores ten." Howard takes the gun from its stand and holds it, showing it isn't quite as big and bulky when it's being held by someone. "They have larger versions of these out in the field, but none that are so easily wielded."

"Looks good, he'll love it," Isabel promises. "Too bad you didn't show him earlier, they just left for the mission and he'd probably have loved to use it."

"Dernier can have it next time, we still have to test it a bit before it goes for a joyride out in the field," Howard says with a shrug. "I also have something else to show you."

Howard leads Isabel further into the labs to his desk and the board that he's been working on the serum formula on. He flips it over, revealing a completed formula on the chalkboard.

"I'm glad I didn't have this finished when those Hydra bastards infiltrated the base because otherwise they would have gotten their hands on the entire formula."

"You worked it out?" Isabel asks in astonishment, looking at the jumble of words and letters on the board. Not a lot of it makes sense to her, but she can tell that the formula is completed. There's no lose ends anywhere.

"Sure did, doll. At least, I'm pretty sure I have. It may still be a little ways off, but this is the closest I've ever been."

"Oh, Howie, congratulations!" Isabel cheers, throwing her arms around the inventor's neck in a tight hug.

"Well, I can't take all of the credit. I couldn't have completed it without you."

"We both know you could have," Isabel laughs. "When did you work it out?"

"A few nights ago when I was up into the late hours haunted by my inner demons," Howard says nonchalantly. "It just came to me, I wasn't even working on it. I just got this glimpse of an idea, went to the board and worked on it, and I popped out this baby. Now, we just gotta make it."

"You want me to help you make the serum?" Isabel asks.

"I need a helper. I'm sure you can keep up with what ingredients I get you to find me. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure it is complete or if it's even right, but I'm going to try to make it, see how it turns out. If it's wrong, we'll keep working on it. I'm calling it Attempt A. If we run out of letters, we start doubling them up."

"How will you know when it's worked, then?"

"Well, I'll have to test it the same way Erskine did."

"On another human subject?" Isabel guesses, jaw going slack. "But you won't be sure–".

"No way. Especially not after what happened with… Midnight Oil," Stark says with a cringe, having to force the words out. "Erskine experimented on mice first, as cruel as it sounds. I have all of his notes from those experiments. If we get the same results from one of our attempts, we've got a match."

Isabel follows Howard through the lab to the bench where he's got the equipment set out, a bunch of ingredients and chemicals already sitting out ready to be used. Howard starts throwing ingredients into a large bowl just as easily as if he's making a cake, Isabel handing him the things he asks for that are out of reach. She watches with interest as he puts a dash of a clear liquid and a splash of another, mixing it all together. The number of chemicals is actually a little worrying.

"You guys actually put all this into Steve?" She asks quietly.

"Apparently," Stark laughs.

"Without knowing what the outcome would be?"

"Don't look at me! I designed the chamber and made it happen, I didn't make the serum. If I had, we would have been saved a whole lot of time working out what the hell Erskine put into it." Howard fixes her a look. "You're still sour about that? Steve agreed to it, didn't he? And so did you, Erskine told me. He came to your apartment, gave you a vague proposition and you said yes straight away."

"Yeah, well once that capsule stood up and Steve started screaming, I started having an awful lot of doubts. And Steve's an idiot sometimes, surely you've noticed," Isabel says with a hearty laugh and without meaning it harmfully. "When he wants something, he goes after it with everything he has. He doesn't stop until it's his, whether that means it causes harm to himself or takes him fifty years to achieve."

"Speaking of…" Howard says slyly. "Remember our little conversation? Did you tell him?" Howard asks carefully.

"I did," Isabel says, nodding her head. "When we were locked up in the cells and you guys were all asleep. Like you said, thinking your life is at its end makes you realise the urgency of needing to do things and needing to tell people how you feel. I told him everything and I didn't hold back. Would have been nice to have been in a better setting, but a girl can only work with what she's given," Isabel notes with a shrug.

"Good girl," Howard smirks, patting her on the shoulder. "I knew you'd take my advice."

"How'd you know?" Isabel humours him.

Stark smirks at her as he pours a clump of a green-looking powder into the bowl, making its ingredients splash up with a loud plop. "Because, my friend, I am a genius."

Later that day, when Howard adds a pinch of sodium to the near-completed serum batch and the solution explodes in the bowl, they know that Attempt A is a failure. Isabel starts cleaning up the mess all over the benches and floor and walls and roof whilst Howard goes straight back to the drawing board, still a little dumbfounded by the sudden explosion and extremely sour about losing an eyebrow in the blast.

* * *

 **Hamburg, Germany**

 **June 13th, 1944**

The factory is empty, almost as though Hydra knew Captain America and the Commandos were on their way and evacuated ahead of time. Maybe that is what happened, maybe the factory had been abandoned long before then. They don't know. Despite this, they never let their guard down, walking carefully in a clump through the factory in search of intel.

This time on their raid, the Commandos are aided not only by Agent Carter but also by a nearby company of American soldiers who offer their services while they wait for their next orders. That makes their assault almost two hundred strong rather than eight strong, and Steve feels infinitely more powerful. There's two hundred sets of eyes, two hundred rifles, two hundred people to fight for the right cause. The surge of power Steve feels is momentous.

Steve leads the men and woman through the factory, sending them off in groups to scour every nook and cranny. He doesn't want to leave any piece of intel untouched, and he doesn't want any cowering Hydra members to get away. Anything they find on Zola, Schmidt or Madame Hydra he needs, especially if he wants to find a way to take them down. They've escaped his grasp too many times now and he's done playing tag.

The massive group of soldiers clear the entire first floor without encountering a soul, and Steve gets an unsettled feeling in his stomach. Something doesn't feel right – Hydra isn't the type to abandon a factory like this, not with all this machinery lying around. Everything is exactly where it was left, as though everyone had just stood up and left for the day without any cleaning up whatsoever. If they'd abandoned long ago, they would have had the time to take their belongings with them and it wouldn't have been such a rushed evacuation. Steve runs a hand over one of the benches in the middle of the room and only brings up a very fine layer of dust. It can't have been abandoned for long.

Steve feels unsettled and unsure, and his confidence falls rather quickly. Sure, Hydra likes to operate from the shadows, staying away from the limelight. That's how they've become so successful; they're parasitical, the silent killer. But a parasite doesn't leave its factory doors wide open for the enemy to invade and see all of their equipment and weaponry. It just goes against the laws of nature.

Something has to have happened, and it has to have happened recently.

Steve tells the other company to stay on guard on the top floors and keep scouring for information and any hidden tunnels or rooms while he leads the Commandos down into the basement they come across, a lone set of stairs in the middle of the factory floor leading into the darkness below. A few other men follow as backup, for which Steve is grateful for.

Steve descends the stairs first, shield raised in front of him. On the last step he peers around the corner, looking down a long straight hallway. It's the only place the stairs lead to, and there's only one lone door at the other end of the brick-lined corridor.

"Tell the other men to look for any other accesses to the basement. A factory this big doesn't have just one basement with one hallway and one room," Steve tells Jones at the back who relays the message to one of the other men.

The man runs off with a group to scour the factory. He comes back ten minutes later with a negative. This is the only entrance to the basement and the only basement on the site.

Confused, Steve looks back down the hallway, finding it empty. It's nearly silent apart from the drip of a leak in the roof somewhere. He slowly steps out into the open, making his way down the corridor and signalling for the Commandos to follow. He hears their near-silent footsteps behind him, all of them walking with their rifles and machine guns raised, listening out for any approaching enemies.

The group makes it all the way to the end of the empty hallway. There are no windows along it and only a door right at the end, apart from the staircase they came down. It's dark and eerie and creepy, and it makes the hairs stand up on the backs of their necks.

Steve uses the shield to bust the lock on the door to the room at the end of the hall, carefully stepping inside with his gun raised. He looks around, but it's just an office of some sort. A desk, chair, lamp and a radio. That's all there is. The Commandos still search the room, but they find nothing. For an office, there's no paperwork in the desk drawers or even any stationary, as though the desk had just been bought and moved in, still unoccupied by a user.

"It all seems too perfect and tidy, almost like it's been set up," Peggy notes, running a finger along the top of one of the filing cabinets and finding no layer of dust. She peers at her still-clean finger and then wipes it off on her jacket.

"Like a set from a film," Steve agrees. It makes Steve's stomach swirl infinitely more.

They walk back out into the hallway, and Steve looks around. He frowns, feeling as though he can hear something on the other side of the wall. It could be coming from upstairs from the other soldiers, but he just has a hunch. He puts his hand on the brick of the wall, and then his ear, listening. Jones begins to ask him what he's doing, but Steve raises a hand to silence him, straining his ears. The walls must be very thick, but Steve hears a very faint noise coming from behind the wall – the rustling of paper and the echo of footsteps.

Suddenly, Steve draws back and kicks hard into the wall. It sends a bit of a jolt up his leg into his knee, but he ignores it. The bricks concave a bit but stay otherwise in place. Steve kicks again, harder this time, over and over, the bricks cracking and bending. Suddenly from the other side of the wall, they hear the slide of a heavy-sounding metal drawer and the shot of a bullet. Over and over, bullet after bullet. Steve only pauses for a second before he keeps kicking, his powerful foot finally forcing through the barrier to the other side.

Steve quickly pushes on the bricks, a hole forming in the wall large enough for him to crawl through. Steve scrambles through, Bucky right on his flank, followed by the others. Steve stands and looks around, his shield already raised considering they'd heard gunshots only moments before. He looks around the massive room quickly, noting that it looks very similar to the room he'd found Bucky in all those months ago; an experimentation room. Everything looks extremely sterile, monitors and equipment lining the far wall, a row of metal slab tables right in the middle of the room. There's no body on them, only a small drip line of blood leading from one table across the floor to a wall of drawers. That is not so sterile.

"A secret basement, nice," Dugan notes, looking around with a fascinated smile.

"Someone must have been here, we heard gunshots," Steve says. He walks up to one of the desks and the piles of cardboard storage boxes behind it. They're all covered in a layer of dust, except one that has finger prints on the lid. "These files have been moved, the dust pattern doesn't match its neighbours," Steve continues, gently touching the lid and then opening it, finding the box full of files and paperwork, likely taken from the office next door.

Steve moves away and slowly scours the room, not finding any sight of anyone. He wonders if maybe the sounds came from above. There's a metal door in the corner, but it's bolted shut, and even Steve can't get it open with his increased strength.

"What is this?" A man's voice asks, but Steve doesn't recognise which of the Commandos it comes from.

"It's an experimentation room, I think," Steve says unnecessarily. "If its hidden, there's something here they don't want anyone to find. See what intel you can find on Zola or the others and keep someone on your flank, there still could be someone here," Steve tells the soldiers, and they immediately separate into pairs through the room in search of any of Doctor Zola or Schmidt's experiment information.

Steve moves back to the experimentation table, his eyes flicking back to the blood. He carefully steps along the blood line, Bucky on his flank with his rifle still raised. He walks to the wall of drawers, carefully pulling one open. Steve gasps when it reveals itself to be a morgue. He's staring down at a cold human body, the eyes unblinking as the deceased man stares upward, his skin cold and frosted as though he's been on ice. Steve feels inside the drawer and it's freezing in there. He withdraws his hand straight away and lets the draw shut.

"What the hell?" Bucky breathes, opening another drawer and revealing another deceased male, this one no older than eighteen, a fresh gunshot through his head.

They open a few more, five in total, two of them with bullet holes through their foreheads. Steve has to stop when he opens one drawer and comes face to face with a young woman, no older than twenty, with bright red hair and blue, unblinking eyes. She has a gunshot wound through her nose, distorting her entire frozen face. He lets the drawer close gently, running a hand through his hair.

"Who are they? Why are they here?" Steve whispers to himself.

"I think I know," Bucky says solemnly.

Steve turns and sees Bucky standing alone in the corner over a small briefcase. He's flicked the latches open to reveal small packets of a grey fluid laying strategically inside. Bucky's looking down at them with a horrified expression. Steve leans past him and picks up a packet, squashing the thick liquid in his hand.

Steve turns around, seeing that Peggy is on the other side of the room with Dugan and Falsworth, reading through some files. They're distracted enough they don't notice Steve and Bucky speaking in the corner.

"This is what they injected you with," Steve realises in a whisper so the others can't hear, looking at Bucky with a frown. He has no idea if Bucky told Peggy about what happened to him.

"I think so," Bucky nearly whispers. He swallows loudly, adjusting his coat collar. "They must be still working on that, trying to make more people like me and you. Looks like they aren't having much success," he says, looking back to the morgue of dead bodies.

"Why would they leave the bodies in the morgue?" Steve wonders.

"Because they're dead?" Bucky suggests. "They're no use to them anymore, except to see where they went wrong."

"And why would Zola leave this here?" Steve ponders, holding the package of grey fluid. He looks around, seeing that the other Commandos are reading through the boxes of files, each one containing notes on the people in the morgue, the details of their experimentation. "Why would they leave all this evidence?"

"Maybe to throw Stark off? Maybe it's all a hoax? Stark's still trying to recreate the serum, isn't he?" Bucky suggests.

"He is, Belle's helping him…but it just doesn't fit. It doesn't make sense."

Steve pockets one of the bags of the substance, giving another to Bucky, who pockets it with a look of disgust. On a whim, Steve rips open one of the remaining bags, the gloop going all over his hands.

"What are you doing?" Bucky hisses. "That could affect you."

"I'll be fine," Steve waves him off, feeling the apparent serum in his hands. It feels a little sticky, very wet, thickening on his hands like porridge. It makes him feel a bit sick and he quickly wipes it off on his pants.

"This file says that not all of the people in the morgue died from an initial serum injection. A serum of what, that's the question," they hear Falsworth say and the two Brooklyn boys turn to him expectantly. He's reading through a file, his eyes scanning wildly. "Three of them – two men and a woman – they're on ice. They're being… preserved. They're kept alive by a grey liquid, a… food source with nutrients and vitamins to keep them alive without having to wake them up?" He says, but it's phrased like a question. He holds the file for Dugan to read, who nods in agreement. It must contain a lot of science jargon.

Steve looks at the gloop in the packet in his pocket again. It fits the description of what Bucky described as the serum, but Bucky may also have confused the food source with the serum. They won't know for sure without testing it.

"Those three have been shot through the head, Falsworth," Steve tells him. "Even if they were alive, they're dead now."

Steve crosses the room and Falsworth hands the file to him. It's for the first man Steve opened the drawer on, his picture stapled to the top left. It has all his information, and then the procedures Hydra has done on him. A lot of it is similar to what Bucky described happened to him – successfully injected with the serum (but maybe not the substance he just got all over his hands), time in the chair to wipe his memories, waterboarding to break him down, and testing of his new healing ability by mutilation.

"They're trying to make their own army of super soldiers," Steve realises. "Those men, they're soldiers. And the woman was a nurse. Hydra must have captured them to experiment on them. I-That's what they were going to do to all of you. Schmidt said he wanted to experiment on you all, make an enhanced army to fight me and get me to turn over to Hydra. He wanted me as part of that army if the brainwashing worked."

"I still don't understand why Zola would have left them here, though? And why they've been shot?" Bucky wonders, looking extremely pale. "Aren't an army of super soldiers, or even three of them, more useful in the field rather than in a giant freezer?"

Steve nods in agreement, flicking the page. That's when he gets his answer, Doctor Zola's scrawled handwriting crossing the page in hurried flicks. He pauses when he sees a section about himself, reading it aloud to the others.

 _"Further study of the American super soldier has led to a grand departure from my prior approach. Captain America approaches combat with limited firearms, and I now understand why. The average Hydra soldier is well-trained in ballistics, but woefully unprepared for hand-to-hand combat. It is this weakness I shall exploit. A heavy dose of the enhancement serum leaves surviving subjects – for which so far there are three – resilient, strong and nearly suicidal with rage. They will be outfitted with high-powered stun batons that output 900 Kilovolts of lethal amperage on contact. Protected by a compact ballistic shield, the troops can swarm entrenched enemy positions and engage in close quarter combat. Once the distance is closed, the enemy has little chance against these deadly, unfamiliar weapons._

 _However, this plan will need to be put on hold until such time as issues with the enhancement serum are fixed. The assets show negative reactions to the super soldier serum. While they show advanced tendencies, such as strength and stamina, they suffer adverse reactions such as severe nausea, internal bleeding, overactive and underactive organs and mental instability. The assets have been stored in containment as they show no signs of improving from their physical ailments and also do not comply with orders. They have their own agenda. Lieutenant Wilkinson has proven the most violent – eight scientists have been killed or injured by his hands. However, they are all dangerous and are to be restrained at all times until these issues can be corrected. The memory wipes provided by the chair are necessary on a regular basis to retain a lack of memory functioning. The longer the assets are free from conditioning, the faster their memories return, causing them to revolt. Their memories cannot be wiped until the chair has been recreated after its destruction by Captain America."_

Steve finds himself smiling just a bit at the thought that they'd been the ones to destroy that damned chair. He sends a silent thanks to Isabel for the idea.

"They know what they're doing, they just can't get the experiments to work. The serum they give them is a replication of mine but it either kills the subjects or makes them physically sick and mentally unstable," Steve deduces. "They were holding them here until they could devise a plan to fix the issues… I don't think we were meant to find them."

"That explains why the factory was abandoned. Perhaps, if these soldiers are as unstable as Zola makes it out, they thought it best to evacuate in case they broke free and wrecked havoc on the factory? Or, maybe it's all just for show, or perhaps the entire factory is devoted to this super-soldier army? If we thought it wasn't being used, maybe we would have just blown up the levels above ground and left the basement unharmed?" Falsworth suggests.

"Also explains the gunshots. Last ditch effort when they knew we were coming?" Jones guesses.

Steve reads on and finds it in Zola's own writing – _"Should the American super soldier arrive and uncover the experimental chamber, all subjects (if still alive) are to be disposed of and rendered useless to ensure the Americans cannot use them for their own advantage. A bullet to the head should suffice."_

"Exactly. Whoever was guarding these people knew they weren't a match for us, especially when we showed up with an entire platoon in tow. They were instructed to take out their assets rather than letting us get our hands on them. Even if they are sick and cannot fight for Hydra, there's a large chance that we could save them, that we would be able to fix whatever is making them sick or even that they would fight for us. They can always steal another subject and do more experimenting," Steve says thoughtfully.

Everyone is silent for a moment, reminiscing how now these men and women will never have the opportunity to be fixed. Their last moments were spent being experimented on, scared and in pain, captured by the enemy. At least, they think, they hadn't been awake when they'd been killed. In a way, they've been spared.

"It leaves us with a lot of questions, but one I think is most important," Peggy says, trailing off and looking around the room again. "Where's the guard?"

Not two seconds later, the guard makes his presence known. The locked metal door at the other side of the room opens slowly with a loud squeal, the hinges needing to be oiled. It's loud, echoing through the room. Steve raises the shield and pushes the others behind him when he spots a large robotic suit inside the cramped closet-like room. It takes a step forward, the metal of its feet clanging against the concrete, arms raised with large blasters in hand. At the head of the suit, Steve sees a glass panel, a man's face visible from inside. Whoever has been guarding the soldiers shot them when they knew Steve was breaking in before hiding in the room to put on their exo-skeleton suit. It's genius, Steve has to admit. The suit looks almost unbeatable. But Steve's a super soldier, and not a lot has proven to be indestructible around him.

The gun in the suit's hand whirrs, a bright blue light visible down the barrel. "Get down!" Steve yells just as the machine blasts a ray of blue energy straight for them.

The Commandos dive to the side, taking cover. Steve crouches in front of them makes sure the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact while the Commandos scramble behind anything that provides cover.

When the robot turns to walk further toward them, the blast of blue energy blows the metal door of the closet off its hinges, sending it flying toward them. Steve drops the shield in favour of catching the metal door, just managing to stop it before it hurdles into his men who have piled behind the metal operating tables, the others escaping back out into the still empty hallway. Steve slams the door down on its side to use as cover beside the tables, Dugan and Falsworth holding it upright.

Bucky's picked up Steve's shield and hurriedly ducks behind it, dragging Steve down too as the machine blasts again, the bolt bouncing off the shield with enough force to nearly knock Bucky backward had it not been for Steve's hand over his shoulder. Steve grabs Bucky and drags him to the side behind the metal door, taking the shield back from him.

"What do we do?" Bucky yells over the whirring noise of the machine as it steps closer to them. They still hear silence above ground, there's no battle engaging. This man must be the only defence. Clearly, though they'd somewhat prepared, Hydra hadn't expected Captain America to find their hidden experimentation room.

"Keep behind the door and stay down. Just back me up," Steve tells him and Bucky nods.

Bucky prepares his rifle, resting it on the top of the distorted metal as Steve stands, jumps the door, and storms forward with the shield. The robot, however, suddenly fires the tesseract energy again in rapid succession, bouncing off the shield and hitting everything around them, sparking flames in all of the equipment and material scattered around the room. The force of the blasts sends Steve flying backward into the back wall, hitting it hard and falling to the ground. He's up quickly just as the robot nears the cowering Commandos. Bucky's been shooting heroically at the metal of the suit since Steve was shot backward, but it doesn't seem to do anything, the bullets ricocheting off on random angles into the walls.

Just as it seems like they might be done for, Steve surges forward again with the shield, colliding with the chest of the massive robot. It's a good foot taller than Steve, but he manages to send it flying backward through the fragile wall into the corridor they'd come from in an explosion of rubble, both of them landing on the ground in a heap of smashed brick. The hidden room is opened up now, becoming a large room along with the corridor.

The man inside the suit shoots upward at Steve from the ground, frantic as the Captain stands over him. The blast narrowly misses hitting Steve in the chest, Steve just managing to raise the shield in time to deflect it. Steve gets a good glimpse of the face behind the robot's actions. He doesn't recognise the man – it isn't Zola or Schmidt or even Madame Hydra. It's just another Hydra goon taking on weaponry he can't handle and fighting a hero much stronger than him. Steve feels a little bad for him, knowing the man is probably only following orders, just like Steve does. But the man's chosen to follow pure evil, and for that, he'll pay.

Bucky rises above the metal door and shoots at the robot on the ground, the bullets lodging in the legs and chest of the armour but not reaching any higher. He tries to get a hit to the glass panel, but he can't without risking hitting Steve's moving form. When the robot tries to stand, it's a little off balance, but manages to re-engage Steve in the fight, slamming a metal fist down onto Steve's back and sending him down momentarily. Steve makes a noise of pain and hits the ground face first.

Bucky continues to shoot at the robot, careful not to hit Steve as he jumps up from the ground just in time to raise the shield. The robot's fists lands on the vibranium, the force causing the robot to shake, the vibranium sending the energy back toward it. Steve then punches and kicks wildly at the exo-skeleton, jumping around as he fights.

Bucky eventually gets his opportunity, the suit facing him and Steve out of the way. He lands a hit on the glass of the armour. It rebounds off the glass, but causes a slight crack in the clear protection, and the man inside looks at the crack in fear.

"Fire again, it'll break," Steve commands, busy forcing the strong arm of the machine down so that it won't shoot at Bucky who's ventured out from his vantage point to get to a better position for shooting.

Bucky aims to fire again, but Peggy beats him to it. She fires from the gun Howard fashioned for her, the bullet, not an explosive one, piercing through the glass casing and sending shards everywhere. The man inside screams, the glass cutting his face and most likely his eyes. Steve takes the opportunity, jumping up and reaching inside. He grabs the man's face, managing to get a hand around his neck, and squeezes until his face turns blue and his head goes limp in the armour. Steve looks at his still features for a moment, recognising that his face is entirely plain and unremarkable, before he lets go and jumps away as the robot falls to the ground, unmoving.

"That was easier than I expected," Peggy notes confidently, fixing her hair.

Morita, Jones and Dernier hesitantly walk down the hallway where they'd run to escape the crumbling wall. "What was that?" Morita asks, staring at the exo-skeleton they'd just watched Steve take down.

"Some type of armoured suit, probably something Schmidt requested to protect this place. They need to try a little harder," Steve says.

He then looks around the room, seeing that it's all been destroyed by the fireballs, every piece of evidence smouldering in fire, the files turned to ash except for the ones Falsworth and Dugan still hold in their jackets for safe keeping. The morgue is untouched though, the bodies still securely inside.

"We need to get both the suit and these bodies back to Stark. Howard would kill me if I didn't give him a look at the suit, he'll be amazed by it. And the bodies, well, they were obviously made enhanced by Zola's serum. Maybe Stark can get the serum from their blood to help with his own study."

"Even if Stark and the SSR aren't interested in what they've had done to them, they deserve to be given back to their families. They deserve a proper burial, and their families deserve closure," Peggy decides, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

The men all speak their agreement, moving around the room to start collecting the bodies. They'll steal one of the Hydra cars above ground, maybe two, and cart everything back to base as best as they can. The bodies are the priority, not the exo-suit. That's just an added bonus for Stark.

Steve moves over to the closet-like room the guard emerged from. He pushes on the other side of the wall and finds himself in the empty office again, the bookshelf swinging out as a hidden door. Bucky follows and stops leaning against the desk, watching Steve.

Steve looks around again, making sure there's no more hidden rooms, but comes up empty-handed again.

"Who knows if they're the only ones of their kind?" Steve says quietly. "For all we know, Hydra could have more super soldiers at their other bases. They were experimenting on you at a different base. Who's to say this isn't a widespread project? How do we know this isn't a part of their whole plan?"

"There's only a few bases left that we know of, Steve. They're running out of places to operate from if it is," Bucky reminds him.

"That's in Europe. We haven't even started looking anywhere else."

* * *

 **London, United Kingdom**

 **July 16th, 1944**

"While I appreciate that you brought me back the exo-skeleton, the bodies were a bit of a downer, Rogers," Howard Stark is saying, leading a freshly showered and rested Steve, Bucky, and Peggy through his lab toward Isabel, who stands beside the five deceased bodies, each of them covered by a white sheet. Colonel Phillips tags along to inspect the damage.

"We thought you'd appreciate the suit. You ever seen anything like it?" Bucky asks.

"Nope, never," Howard admits. "Hydra has quite a few inventions that no one else on Earth has ever even imagined, like that one-man submarine Cap punched in the first day in his new body. I'd never seen anything like that before either."

"Let's stick with the issue at hand," Phillips cuts in, coming to a stop beside the first body. "The men and women in the morgue, who are they?"

"Hydra did all the identifying for us. We have all of their names, dates of birth, countries of origin, next of kin. All we need to do is contact their families," Peggy says, handing a few of Hydra's charts over to Isabel, who begins to read them, cringing as she reads what medical experiments were conducted. "The men were soldiers, the woman a nurse. They were either taken from the front lines or from one of the captured units, like the one-oh-seventh."

"And what happened to them?"

"Hydra experimented on them," Isabel answers, flipping the files shut. She's read them enough times over the last few days. "They're enhanced, just like Ste– Captain Rogers. A version of the super soldier serum is present in their blood and all of their cells. Howard and I have been testing them for days, comparing what we can to Steve's charts. It's hard to say, but we have a pretty good guess that if they were alive they'd be of similar strength, stamina and physical ability to Captain Rogers; maybe even mental competence as well," Isabel tells them. Her eyes say something else to him, flicking to Bucky. Steve knows she's saying they'd be similar to Bucky too.

"No doubt this was intentional," Steve continues. "Zola said in the file that they planned on creating their own super soldiers that would be equal in strength and skill to me in order to take me down. They were going to convert the Commandos into super soldiers as well, or at least, test their serums and torture methods on them. Most of these experiments were done before our time with Hydra, though. Most of them didn't survive the initial injection or had some very serious negative reactions to it, debilitating enough to warrant them being frozen until a cure could be found. Judging by the look of their appearance, some of them have been dead months, others weeks, some just recently. But something is majorly wrong with Hydra's version of the serum if these are the side effects, if it kills them."

"Question is, how did Zola work out the serum?" Phillips asks.

"The Red Skull was given the first version of Doctor Erskine's serum, it's what turned him into the Red Skull in the first place. It wasn't ready, and it had the adverse reactions on him that we see today. It exacerbated the evil already within him," Howard explains. "Erskine initially worked on the serum with Doctor Zola under the direction of Schmidt. Zola most likely synthesised Schmidt's DNA and combined that with what he remembered of the formula to make his own version. They've most likely been testing on soldiers for years, long before the one-oh-seventh found themselves captured. We can't test whether any of their attempts were successful or not because these poor bastards are dead and we don't know how many there are or where they've been kept or buried. For all we know, some may have survived, or maybe none were successful. We won't know unless we find them all."

"There's a lot of unknowns there, Stark," Phillips notes.

Howard nods. "We're all on the same page, sir. We only know what was uncovered at the factory and what we deduce from the bodies."

"So, these may not be the only successful Hydra super-soldiers," Phillips hisses, clearly frustrated. "There could be hundreds more in the other factories we haven't found yet. Hydra could have a whole army of them somewhere else waiting to unleash on us and we'd be none the wiser."

"That's what we were thinking, Colonel," Steve says. "The Howling Commandos haven't even combed through all of the factories in Europe, let alone the rest of the world, if there are any. The one we raided this time was very remote, abandoned. It was by pure luck that we found these people. We could have easily missed them at others, or we could be looking in entirely the wrong place. It's going to take a long time of searching to track them all down if there are any more."

"Don't dismiss the work you and the Commandos have done, Captain. You've managed to intercept a lot of their important business deals and put a halt to Hydra's plans. Without you, Hydra would no doubt be like a plague over us by now," Peggy berates, looking like a proud mother at Steve and Bucky.

Steve ducks his head, still unable to take a compliment. "We don't do it for recognition, Agent Carter. We do it to–"

"Enough of the justified hero sap, Rogers," Phillips snaps, cutting Steve off. "Are these the only successful experiments that we know of? Are you sure you can't identify any others and haven't found any others at previous locations? We need to start tracking them all down, every last one. We can't have Hydra with their own unit of super soldiers," he says with a scowl.

Isabel's eyes flick subtly to Bucky, who's gone extremely pale. Everyone watches curiously as Bucky walks up to the closest body and pulls the sheet down with a shaking hand, looking into the man's lifeless green eyes. That could have been him. He could have been the one being held in that morgue-like freezer, eyes lifelessly staring up at the ceiling, just waiting to be unfrozen so that Hydra could continue to unravel his mind and make him into what they wanted.

"No, they aren't the only ones," Bucky eventually says, realising everyone is watching him expectantly.

"Do you know of experimentation at other factories, Sergeant Barnes? Do you remember hearing of it in your time in captivity?" Peggy asks professionally, but the worry in her eyes betrays her affection for the sly brunette American.

"No, no, you've got it wrong, doll," Bucky tells her quietly. "I'm talking about me. Zola experimented on me, just like these people. He injected me with the serum. He… He made me a super soldier."

Everyone is silent for a long moment. Phillips and Peggy's jaws drop, Howard looks both delighted and disgusted at once, and Isabel and Steve look sheepish.

Phillips turns toward Steve, seeing his kicked puppy expression, and then to Isabel, who at least has the decency to try to hide it. "You two knew about this, didn't you?" Phillips asks, his voice surprisingly even.

"I asked Isabel not to tell anyone, and then spilled accidentally to Steve while I was a bit intoxicated," Bucky defends. "I was too… afraid that I would be experimented on again, that you guys would want to pull me apart to see what Zola had done to me. I couldn't even stand the sight of a stethoscope in my sister's hand, let alone in Stark's. No offence," he adds to the inventor. Stark shrugs, unfazed. "Isabel understood. She's been monitoring me ever since, making sure nothing happens to me and nothing goes wrong. There's been nothing like these people," Bucky explains, motioning to the dead.

"And what did you find, Miss Barnes?" Phillips asks patiently, turning to Isabel, who looks a little like a deer in headlights.

Isabel sighs, thinking. "The serum had a great effect on Steve that we've been able to track through his actions in combat, and my presence on the missions has been particularly helpful with that. Captain Rogers presents symptoms of what medically is called "physical perfection" – the peak of human potential or the next step in human evolution, something Doctor Zola also mentioned, I believe. He's strong, fast, durable, agile, with increased reflexes that are nearly instantaneous. He can see faster, meaning he can pretty much dodge bullets. He runs at approximately sixty miles per hour, bench pressed two-thousand two hundred pounds as a warm up, and his one-rep maximum would likely be much, much higher. The serum prevents the build-up of fatigue poisons in his muscles, so he never tires and can exert himself physically for extraordinary lengths of time. He's immune to any diseases and recovers from injuries around five times faster than the average human."

She pauses, licks her lips. "It's been a bit harder to measure the changes in Bucky because he doesn't push himself the way Steve does, and we were working on the downlow, so we didn't have access to any special equipment. Most of it has been based off my observations, comparing his records to Steve's, and what Bucky detects within himself. He isn't as strong or powerful as Steve. He doesn't heal as fast or run for quite as long, but truthfully, he isn't too far off. The serum he was given must have worked to some extent, but not to the extent of Project Rebirth. It's a knock-off, after all. For all we know, Bucky may not have even been given a complete dose, there may have been another part to the serum that he wasn't given. It may have been modelled off of Schmidt's failed serum, or it could have been entirely new. There's not much we can do to find out."

"But who knows, by now they could have improved it from what they gave me, made it better. That was months ago. These people," Bucky puts a hand over the white sheet, hovering above them like he makes to comfort them, "they could have been stronger. Better super soldiers. But something must have been very wrong with this version of the serum for them to become so ill, or to not survive the experiment. They must be doing something wrong. Or, I dunno, maybe I got lucky."

Peggy just stares at Bucky, stuck somewhere between shock and admiration. She looks a little heartbroken, though whether it's for Bucky or because Bucky didn't tell her, Bucky doesn't know. Bucky meets her eyes and hopes his cerulean blues provide enough apology.

Phillips' eyes flick between all of them, seemingly in thought. "You've been very brave, Sergeant," Phillips says. "I don't think anyone could truly understand the extent of what happens within Hydra's walls and I don't blame you for keeping it to yourself. But thank you for telling us now. It gives us just that little bit more insight into what Hydra's up to." He starts to pace then, past the covered bodies.

"Hydra's making an army of super soldiers, or trying to, at least," Peggy says, watching the Colonel pace. "But if they're willing to put a bullet through the head of each of them at the approach of Captain America, clearly they aren't confident in their ability to do so."

"We have the advantage," Phillips continues. "We know what they intend to do and we know how. We have to get one step ahead of them, find all of their super soldiers before they work out how to fix them, how to make them obedient. If we can take out all of their factories, we can make sure they have nowhere to keep them and nowhere to store their damned memory wiping chair. We wipe out all of their defences, they have nothing to fight back with."

"We send Hydra to the ground," Steve says in agreement, nodding his head. "We burn every head and every corner of their structure until there's nothing left. We break them down until they can't recover, and then we keep fighting. Only then can we be sure that it's over."

"Can you do that Captain?" Phillips asks sincerely. "Not just wipe Hydra off the map, but wipe them out of existence?"

"With respect, sir, that's what I've been trying to do since the beginning."

* * *

 **A/N:** So there's some obvious foreshadowing in this chapter for events much further into this story within the CA:TWS and CA:CW timelines. Hydra's quest for a super soldier army will continue much further into the future.


	49. Chapter 48

**48.**

 **Tabernas Desert, Spain**

 **July 23rd, 1944**

The lone Hydra factory, far from all the others, had been found by pure chance.

A lost Allied plane had flown across the Spanish desert in search of their way back to France, the needle of the plane's built in compass damaged and unable to point its pilot in the right direction. The soldier was flying from the North African Campaign, delivering important information to the Eastern Front's officials. It was an important mission and he didn't want to mess it up, but the sight of the lone factory had intrigued him. As he'd flown over it, a machine gun on the roof of the factory had released a steady stream of bullets in his direction that he'd managed to swerve and avoid, but it had taken him longer than it should have to realise the bullets weren't bullets at all, but blasts of blue energy.

He'd called his discovery in to the US Army around 1000 hours, claiming the factory had a steady stream of trucks and armouries driving through the abandoned desert toward it. The vehicles, he said, were unrecognisable – they didn't belong to the Allied or Axis powers, were painted entirely black with only a white symbol on its side, untraceable. There's no reason for the vehicles to be trekking across this part of the unforgiving desert, well away from any main roads, the lone narrow track leading to nowhere but the factory.

The mention of the suspicious factory, as well as the blue energy blasts, caught the attention of officials, who immediately passed on the information to Colonel Phillips, making its way straight to Captain America himself. Steve immediately decided to act on the intel, and by 1200 hours, all of the Howling Commandos receive word. They hastily suit up and pack themselves into their designated plane, flying through the bright blue sky over the French countryside and then the Spanish desert. Initially, it had taken a lot of mental energy and convincing to get some of the Commandos back into the plane after what happened last time they were on board one, and even those who showed no signs of hesitation felt a sensation pool deep in their bellies. Howard proves brave enough to pilot them all to their destination, though he refuses to take them too close to the factory in case they're shot down again, which they consider understandable.

Isabel looks out the window at the ground below. She's never seen red and brown dirt like this before, stretching for miles toward the horizon in waves of red, orange and brown. It seems to stretch on forever. She can't see anything else but dirt. It doesn't look the way she expected a desert to, though. She expected rolling sand dunes and nothing else; but she can make out canyons, ravines, gullies, buttes, and other geological formations she never expected. It's almost beautiful, in a scary sort of way. It's unknown, and she thinks that may be what intrigues her so much.

"It's so different to anything I've ever seen before," Isabel notes.

Bucky comes up beside her and looks out the window, having noticed his sister's fascinated stare. "The terrain, it's called Badlands," Bucky tells her. "All those ravines and canyons, the earth is shaped by the water and the wind and it erodes it. Makes for a pretty picture, right?"

"Sure does. I never thought I'd end up in a desert."

"Semi-desert," Bucky corrects easily. "Like the middle of America. Rough, hilly and a helluva lot of cactus."

Isabel looks over her shoulder where Falsworth, Steve and Dugan are leaning over a map of Spain on the floor, circling parts of the south-eastern corner. She walks over to the map to have a look. Most of it is bare; there's hardly any towns where they're going except for a sprinkle near the border. The map shows the hills and ravines, and there's a lot of them. There's a mountain range to the north of where they'll be landing and another to the south-southeast of the desert, isolating the massive area from the Mediterranean Sea. They'll be surrounded by mountains on both sides with only a narrow valley to trek through to make it to the location of the factory.

"We'll be trekking through a lower area, only about four hundred meters above sea level. The temperatures shouldn't drop below freezing at night, but during the day, the temperatures will easily surpass forty degrees Celsius," Falsworth is telling them. "That's one hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit for you Yanks. It probably won't rain at all since it's the hot season, which is good because the place floods since the ground is so hard. Shouldn't be too hard to get across to the factory if we can withstand the intense heat."

"It'll be a bit different to the weather we're used to in Europe," Dugan notes.

"Sure will be. We might even get a tan," Falsworth smirks, rolling up the map into a tight scroll.

"Alright get ready," Steve says, nodding at this information. "It's going to be difficult to navigate by foot, but it would also be difficult to get the plane in, so we don't have much choice. Make sure you have everything, there's nowhere to get supplies out here."

"We think we're the luckier bastards getting sent to the Eastern Front," Jones says from his spot sitting on the floor of the plane, "and then we end up in the desert anyway."

"Too bad there aren't any of those native girls and coconut trees here," Bucky adds, remembering the conversation from basic, though it hadn't been with these men.

"Nah, just cacti."

"Ain't it cactuses?"

"Don't even get me started."

* * *

Howard eventually descends the plane low to the ground, landing when he spots a section of flat terrain. There aren't many of them around, so he makes the most of it, landing them in a valley with sloping canyons on either side shielding them partly from the heat. Falsworth and Steve get the coordinates from Howard and situate themselves. Howard leaves the engine rumbling, needing to jet out of there as soon as possible. He's needed back at base as soon as possible for meetings with Colonel Phillips regarding new weaponry, but he also can't risk running out of fuel in the middle of the desert.

Their pick-up rendezvous point is not in Almeria. It isn't even in Spain at all. Howard doesn't want to test his luck landing in the country more than once, since they've no real idea what actually lurks in the rolling red hills, and he doubts he would be able to find them again in the desert, even though they have a transponder. Plus, it's too dangerous to make them wait around for him to come back; there are too many weather and nature-related variables that could harm them all. It'll be safer for them to find a way back into Europe where the weather is a little more predictable and safer for them to be waiting around in.

None of them have established a pick up entirely, though they know it will be somewhere in France. There are many areas of the country that are still German-occupied and therefore they need to avoid them. They need to find an airfield for Howard to land in that is controlled by the Allies, and so there will be a little searching on all of their parts. The plan is that Steve and the Commandos will send the factory to the ground if it is Hydra, steal one of their vehicles and drive their way back into France. It sounds well and good, albeit a bit vague, but not all of the Commandos' plans go as such.

Besides, Steve sort of wants to prove to Phillips that he's quite capable of road-tripping cross-continent in a stolen vehicle with his Commandos all in one piece and relatively stable.

As soon as the Commandos disembark the plane, Howard takes off again, speeding down the makeshift runway and into the sky, whipping the Commandos hair and clothes around them. It leaves them alone in a country none of them have ever dreamed of visiting, let alone standing in on the way to blow up an enemy facility. How things change.

"According to our coordinates, we've got a fair walk," Steve tells them. "About twelve miles. It's going to be hard walking through the sand and across the terrain – there's canyons, gorges, plateaus, everything you can think of. We'll take our time, stop when it gets dark and continue tomorrow if we aren't already there. And be on the lookout, keep your eyes on the ground in front of you. Last thing we need is a broken leg."

Everyone agrees. They aren't looking forward to the walk, but this is what the men trained for. This is why Bucky's unit at basic walked the perimeter every Friday night without drinking from their canteen. This is why they were made to run miles and carry their gear on hikes and climb walls and conserve their water and cover their delicate skin.

They're all prepared, or as well as they can be, except for poor Isabel, but she looks determined. Her lack of training and experience doesn't seem to bother her.

"If I get too tired, Steve can just piggy back me anyway. He said I don't get any special treatment, but he would if I asked," she tells Dugan with a smirk before following after Steve like a loyal puppy.

* * *

About an hour in, the muscles in Isabel's legs start to ache. The sand and rocks they climb make it feel like every step is actually four, their feet sinking deep into the moving sand. It feels like they're wading through thick water, even though they only sink ankle deep. They all trip every now and then over jutting rocks and small ravines in the terrain.

Dugan goes down at one point in a heap of laughter and comes very close to falling into a small cluster of cacti that definitely would have made him shout out and wipe the smile from his face. He does, however, get a stray needle caught in his finger and Isabel has to pull it out for him, stopping him thereon from scratching it as the grown man pouts and sucks on it to relieve the itch.

The golden globe of the sun is unforgiving and cruel, a malevolent unblinking eye, the sky it's co-conspirator with not even a wisp of cloud to soften the harsh rays. The lizards take shelter in the shadows of the rocks where they won't be roasted by the hot sand, but there's no shade large enough for the Commandos unless they take shelter at the side of a ravine. The sun beats down on their backs, making them all sweat profusely. A few of the men look as though they've just stepped out of the shower.

Isabel goes to take off her long-sleeved top to use as shade over her head, but Steve stops her, saying she'll get too burnt. She can see the logic in that so she keeps her long-sleeved top on, ignoring how warm her skin feels. If she was to get burnt, she may not even make it to the factory, especially if she got heatstroke. She's dying for a drink of water, but she isn't allowed to drink from her canteen either. She has to save it because they don't know how long they'll be out in the desert for. She can agree that she doesn't want to run out of water and die of dehydration, but the temptation to bleed her canteen dry is pretty strong.

The view had been so beautiful from the plane, but now she thinks she could maybe do without it. Spain can keep its desert-but-not-a-desert, thank you very much.

Three hours into their walk, they find themselves at the edge of a small cliff. It's a fair way down, enough that they wouldn't be able to jump without some form of injury. They look to their left and right, but the cliff continues for kilometres in each direction, and walking either way to find a less steep way down could cost them hours and much of their precious energy. Steve goes first, jumping off the edge and landing crouched, knees bent with a loud thud on the rocks below. Bucky sits on the edge of the cliff and then swings himself off, hanging in the air toward the ground. He lets himself drop after a moment, falling the few metres and landing lightly on his feet with a small _oof_ , but he's otherwise unharmed. The other Commandos follow suit, some of them complaining about a knee or an ankle, and Steve helps a couple of them down. They leave Isabel standing at the top, looking down nervously.

"Come on, Belle," Steve says, extending a hand up to Isabel, though he's nowhere near reaching her.

Isabel hesitates and then sits on the edge of the cliff as Bucky had, slowly lowering herself off the edge and hanging on for dear life. Steve still isn't tall enough to reach her, his hand barely touching the bottom of her booted foot.

"You gotta let go, I'll catch you," Steve promises.

Isabel gulps, mentally curses Steve, and then let's go with both hands. She drops a moment, a terrifying moment, and then Steve's hands catch both sides of her waist and lower her easily to the ground, setting her down very gently on the red dirt beneath them.

"Thanks, baby," Isabel says sweetly, kissing Steve's cheek.

" _Thanks, baby,_ " Dugan mocks. "We didn't get a nice lift down, did we Monty?" He asks, knocking into Falsworth who goes flying, tripping over his boots.

"Perhaps the Captain thought that if you fell and hit your head, you'd get a little smarter," Monty remarks.

From the cliff, the group continues to make their way down a continued, fairly steep slope lower into the valley. Thankfully there aren't anymore cliffs to face, only the steep hill. The ground is a bit sandy and rocky, and they have to step carefully as to not slip. Small pebbles roll under their boots, threatening to move their feet and make them lose their footing. Such a thing happens when Bucky's foot skids on the rocks. He doesn't fall, barely even wobbles, just stays upright and keeps climbing. Meanwhile, when Dugan's foot slips, he falls backward onto the ground, dragging Morita down with him in his frantic scramble to stay upright. The two land with a loud thud on a harder rocky part of the hill, whining at the pain that shoots through their bodies, particularly their behinds.

Falsworth turns to laugh at Dugan's misfortune, not looking at his feet, and steps on a bit of uneven surface. Monty slips forward, knocking down Isabel who was walking in front of him and not concentrating on the falling men in preference to watching where she was walking. They fall forward, arms outstretched to break their falls as they hit the ground, not as soft underneath them as they would have wished for. Steve reaches out to grab them as they fly past him, but he just misses. They roll a little way down the massive sand dune in a tumble of limbs and Monty's shouts, stopping halfway down.

Falsworth is up before Isabel even realises what happened, laying face down in the dirt. She sits up as Falsworth reaches her, coughing and spluttering, red sand in her eyes and mouth. Her hands are a little scraped up, a bit of blood pooling in the shallow grazes, but their clothes and their quick reactions stopped them from getting any scrapes to their faces or any other part of their bodies.

"Isabel, I am so sorry," Falsworth apologises profusely, fluttering over her as the rest of the Commandos run down to them with worried expressions, particularly Steve and Bucky.

Monty thinks Isabel might actually be crying before he realises she's laughing, and apparently Steve thought the same as he rushes to her. They both pause when they realise she's laughing, wiping away the sand from her face, her mouth stretched into a wide smile, her laughter loud and pure. A real smile, they realise, one Bucky and Steve truly haven't seen since they were taken by Hydra all those weeks ago. They all laugh together for a moment, Isabel saying something through her laughter about Falsworth letting out a scream when he fell.

"It's okay," Isabel promises once she stops laughing, wiping the tears from her eyes. She opens her mouth and wipes off her tongue, finding her hand coated in sand. "Gross."

"Desert isn't so nice after all, is it?" Dugan asks her, clapping her on the back. She glares at him but takes his offered hand with her own grazed and gravel-filled palms, standing awkwardly so they can be on their way.

* * *

Five hours into their walk, their shoes are filled with sand, rustling around uncomfortably in their boots. Those who had been optimistic at the beginning are starting to lose the faith. Even Steve looks more disgruntled than usual, his brows pulled tight over his sweating forehead, his golden hair tousled with sweat and sand. It gets in their hair, in their eyes, in their mouth. Dugan spits it out, a clump of red. It almost looks like blood.

Everyone's sweating by then and some of them are just holding in their swearing, their mouths parched, their stomachs rumbling for food. They've removed their over-shirts, despite the warnings not to, to hold them over their heads and fight off the unforgiving sun on the backs of their heads and necks.

When the sun finally starts to set, and the air becomes cooler, everyone has to suppress the urge to cheer, breathing heavy sighs of relief. Steve decides to stop and make camp while they can still see what they're doing to set up. The men stop gratefully and place their sleeping bags on the ground, choosing a spot beside a sand dune to somewhat block any winds that may start up during the night.

The Commandos all sit on their sleeping bags, so they aren't in the sand, facing out toward the setting sun on the horizon. The sky lights up in a flurry of colour, red and orange and pink rays that spew outward across the plains, and Isabel takes a picture, like she had been at random times throughout the day. It reminds Steve of when he'd spilled his paint pots that time on the wooden kitchen floor and the colours all mixed together in a swirl. Sarah Rogers hadn't been happy about that, but she'd laughed it away at the sight of eleven-year-old Steve's paint stained nose and cheeks and his crying blue eyes. She'd kissed away the tears and they'd cleaned up the mess together.

The memory makes Steve's heart constrict, and he realises he hasn't thought much about his mother since he started fighting. It just hadn't felt right to reflect about someone so pure in a place of such brutal destruction. He wonders what Sarah would think of what he's been doing, whether she'd be proud? Well, he guesses, she was proud of him before, surely she'd be proud of him now that he's making a difference and helping save the world? That thought comforts him and he allows himself to somewhat relax, as much as he can this deep in uncharted territory.

Isabel sits next to Steve, leaning against his side. He pulls her close, one arm behind him to hold them up and the other running through her dark hair between her shoulder blades. They watch the sunset together like it's only the two of them there and the Commandos don't bother them, letting them have their moment. Even in the middle of the desert on the way into an enemy territory, they both feel some sort of peace. The wind is fresh and cool against their faces, the ground soft beneath them. They're both a little thirsty, both a little hungry, both pretty beat, Isabel's hands sting a little, but they're content in that moment and that's enough.

Eventually the sun disappears behind the rugged horizon, plunging them all into an eerie darkness, everything only slightly illuminated white by the moon above them. The desert becomes a vast undulating sea, punctuated by the shadowy silhouettes of the cactus and the cliffs, like great ghost ships upon sandy waves. The shadows of their faces seem just a bit darker, a bit gloomier.

The temperature drops significantly, and soon enough their wishing for the sun's heat to come back and warm their freezing bones.

"Really could go for a cold beer," Dugan mutters, holding his jacket tight around his body.

"A beer?" Morita repeats. "You crazy? It's too cold for a beer." Morita's already bundled up in his sleeping bag, laying back against the sand to stay warm.

"What do you suggest then?"

"Whiskey'd be nice," Morita admits.

"Doctors orders," Falsworth cheers, pulling a flask from his pack. They hear metal clinking and Dugan peers into the pack, seeing there's more than one flask in there, presumably with different alcohols in each. They always trust Monty to bring at least one.

The flask gets passed around as it normally does, warming the bellies of the Commandos as the cold air swoops down upon them. Isabel shuffles a little closer to Steve, his body heat warming her side and across her shoulders. She leans her head on his shoulder, only stirring when Dugan taps the flask against her shoulder for her to take. She takes it from his hands and downs a mouthful, wincing against the burn in her throat. It immediately warms her insides and seems to go straight to her head. It's been a while since she had a drink given her recovery and absence from the Stork Club.

She passes the flask to Steve, who lifts it to his lips and tips his head back as he takes a fairly large gulp. She watches him carefully, his shadowed features, the way he somehow still seems to be a light in the darkness. He hands the metal flask back to Dugan over her shoulder, who sneaks another sip before passing it back down to Bucky at the end where he and Morita are using Bucky's small telescope to look up at the stars. The lack of city lights gives them an unmitigated view above and it's breathtaking.

After a while, once most of the Commandos have had their fill of whiskey and laid back on their sleeping bags to sleep, Steve notices Isabel watching him, feels her eyes on him. He turns to her with a curious expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she says with a smile. "Just looking at you."

Steve blushes just a bit, looking a bit uncomfortable under her gaze. "Why?" He chuckles.

"Well, we're goin' steady, so that gives me the right to look at you whenever I want. I waited a long time to have that right so I'm not gonna waste it," Isabel begins, smirking up at Steve. She quickly glances behind her to make sure no one's looking in on their conversation, not that it would matter or that they would. The only people still awake are Morita and Bucky well away from them, the others passed out in their sleeping bags, snoring.

She looks back to him, wide eyes staring at him through the darkness. Her lips are red and plump and so kissable, almost permanently stained from how often she wears lipstick, though Steve wonders if she put some on before they came on the mission. She always does that, wears lipstick and makeup and does her hair, and Steve isn't entirely sure if its for herself or for him.

"I'm looking at you because…Well, Stevie, because you're beautiful," she says sincerely, making Steve's eyebrows rise.

"Really?" Steve asks, frowning just a bit and making that crease form between his eyebrows.

"Don't tell me you don't know," Isabel laughs. "You're pretty easy on the eyes."

"Well, I don't really think of myself that way," Steve admits, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess it explains why all the women went crazy over me on the USO Tour."

"You bet it does. But you weren't just beautiful after the serum, Stevie. You were the most handsome man in Brooklyn long before that," Isabel says offhandedly, looking up at the stars. Steve doesn't know if she's avoiding eye contact or if she's just generally interested in the stars.

Steve smiles at her, ignoring the blush that crawls up his cheeks. He lies back against the sleeping bag, pulling her back with him. She lies her head against his shoulder and chest, her hair splaying out around her. They look up at the stars for a while, pointing out the constellations they think they can see. Neither of them have ever seen them so clearly before, clear from the light of the city or the smoke of the battle. It's almost easy to forget where they actually are, that they aren't just sitting on the rooftop of the parish hall. The dead giveaway, of course, is the near silence of this landscape. There's no honking horns or bustling people down below, no city lights.

"You really don't see it, do you?" Isabel asks again eventually, waiting so long that Steve thought she'd fallen asleep.

"See what?" Steve asks.

"You never saw it, not even when you were smaller back in Brooklyn. You've never realised how beautiful you really are. And not even in appearance, just _you._ You're just…indescribable," Isabel tells him, not even stumbling through the words because she says them with absolute utter conviction.

Steve doesn't quite know how to respond to that, so he squeezes her shoulder just a little bit tighter. Isabel rolls away from the sky to face Steve, leaning against his side and sitting up, looking down at him with her forgivable eyes, dark enough to look black in the darkness of the night. She takes his free hand and threads their fingers together, holding them tight and pressing a kiss to his fingers.

"I told you that night on the roof that if we were stars, you would shine the brightest of them all," she says, leaning her cheek against his hand in hers. "And you know what, I really wasn't that far off. We aren't stars up in the sky, but we are stars. We're celebrities. We're in the spotlight."

"I never wanted to be a celebrity," Steve tells her honestly. "I just wanted to do good."

"I know," she says with a smile that's a little sad for him. "But that's what people do to heroes; they make them famous, they make them known. Everyone loves the hero. They put them up on this tall pedestal whether they want it or not so that they're standing amongst the stars. And you, you're the brightest star of them all. In a room of people, everyone just looks at you because you just radiate this light and they all want a piece of that warmth. They just can't get enough…" Isabel pauses, most likely for effect. She's always been a bit dramatic, but she can't beat Steve for that title. "And neither can I. I love you, Steve. Every little piece of you, and every piece of you that used to be just a bit littler. And no matter how much you give me, it'll never be enough."

"Belle," Steve breathes, looking up at her with this dopey, lovesick smile on his face. His heart races in his chest and his breathing hitches in his chest, and he's just so damn in love with her and has been for so long. He loves her so much it hurts. He lifts the hand that cradles her to him and runs his thumb along her cheekbone. She leans into him, smiling at him brightly. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. "Just like an angel. You know, you glow too, Belle. You just have this light that makes everyone feel a little better when you're around. Maybe that's why you're a nurse, because you heal people without even trying to. It's like you have a halo. You're like an angel sent from Heaven just for me. It's like God gave me my own little star because he knew I'd look after you."

Isabel's eyes are a little wet. "I think that's the nicest, most poetic thing anyone's ever said about me," she chuckles, leaning forward to kiss Steve softly. Mid-kiss she breaks down into tears, hugging Steve's neck tightly. She's half-laughing at herself through her tears, and Steve chuckles at her.

"You always say poetic things and you can't handle it when you hear them back about yourself," Steve laughs, wrapping Isabel up in his arms tight. "You deserve to be told, Belle. Every day. And I will tell you every day if you'll let me. I just gotta tell you how special you are all the time, just in case you forget."

"I wouldn't dare forget, Captain Rogers," Isabel laughs, sitting up again and looking at him. "It'd be a little hard anyway. It'd mean I'd forget everything else too, because you're just my everything."

Suddenly, Morita shifts down the other end of the line, making the two jump at the sudden movement. Truthfully, they'd both forgotten they weren't alone. "I found the North Star!" Morita cheers, using Bucky's telescope and looking up into the sky.

"It's called Polaris," Bucky informs him. "Sailors used it to lead them in the direction north."

"Isn't that because it's the brightest star in the sky and they could always find it?" Morita asks, apparently believing Bucky to be an expert on stars and astronomy. Lucky for him, Bucky's always been a bit of a science fanatic.

"It's not the brightest, it's just a second-magnitude star. Moderately bright. It's famous because it's fixed in a northern sky. It's steadfast, it's always there; even when all the other stars are rising in the east and setting in the west, circling in a wheel around it," Bucky recites as though reading from a textbook, and maybe he is in his mind.

"Oh," Morita says, a little disappointed that his fact hadn't in fact been true. "I thought it was the brightest."

"Not quite," Isabel whispers so only Steve can hear, snuggling close to him with her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around him.

Steve presses a kiss to Isabel's forehead, pushing her hair off of her face. "Not quite," he agrees, but he isn't talking about himself.

* * *

They all start walking again in the direction of the factory before the sun rises in the morning, getting to their destination just after sunrise.

Bucky and Isabel hunker down behind a large sand dune, using it as Bucky's snipering position. From their point lying against the sand dune, they can see the entire factory in the small valley below them, and the road leading to the factory. Someone would have had to stay outside with Isabel on this mission since they didn't want her to be alone in the exposed desert without protection. The desert lacked the trees and undergrowth she can usually hide in. It only seemed logical for her to stay beside Bucky, who is fulfilling his true role as sniper on this mission, due to the openness of the terrain, rather than following Steve inside and covering his friends' six.

The sky is still dull as the Commandos run down the sand dunes toward the concrete structure, Steve in front with his shield raised. Getting in, however, isn't as easy as usual. Being out in the open and without the protection of the forest, Hydra's lookouts spot the Commandos coming from a mile away and they find themselves under fire before they can find cover, not that the desert provided any cover anyway. Bucky fires back right away from his position. He raises his sniper rifle, leaning into the sand, and fires repeatedly, taking out the Hydra agents that emerge from the factory toward their invaders, picking them off one by one. Isabel watches in admiration at Bucky's accuracy – he never seems to miss. Every shot makes contact, and deadly contact too. His breathing is calm and steady, the gun loose in his hands. It looks like he belongs in that position, like he was born to do it.

Steve risks his own exposure by throwing his shield ahead of him, taking out the sniper atop the lookout with the fling of the metal. That clears the path for the Commandos to get inside unhindrered. Steve gets an opening when no more Hydra agents are running out to tackle them outside. As he moves toward the front doors to enter, he turns and salutes to Bucky in thanks, promptly giving away the position of the sniper.

"God dammit, Steve," Bucky hisses, quickly crawling down the sand dune to a height where he can stand up without the top of his head being exposed, dragging Isabel along with him. "We got to move, he just gave away our position."

Isabel scrambles after him through the sand, following Bucky around to a new position to the side of the factory, past the now empty lookout. "I get the feeling this isn't the first time he's done that," Isabel mentions as Bucky reloads his rifle, muttering swears and curses at Steve.

"No, it isn't. If my count is right, it's the third," Bucky says, setting up his rifle again in their new position. They can still see the factory clearly in front of them. "I love him like a brother, but he can be a right idiot. Strategical genius, my ass" Bucky huffs, but there's barely any heat behind his words, mainly amusement.

Once they're settled again, Isabel and Bucky are left to wait under the stinking sun whilst Steve and the rest of the Commandos are inside the Hydra factory. No one enters or exits the main doors and so there's nothing for Bucky to do but wait. As the minutes and then hour passes, the sun rises higher in the sky above them, beating down hard on their backs. Isabel takes a small swig from her canteen and then pockets it out of reach. She watches the factory carefully for any sign of activity, but it seems silent. Isabel and Bucky wait and wait after that, the time ticking by slowly. They wipe the sweat from their foreheads, staying quiet and staying down. They can hear the gunfire from inside the building, just hoping none of those bullets stray into the bodies of the Commandos.

"You think they'll find any more super soldiers here?" Isabel asks Bucky after a while.

"Dunno," Bucky says quietly. "I get the feeling we'll come across more, though, even if they aren't here."

Isabel nods at that, looking away. The idea of finding more super soldier experiments is daunting, but Isabel also feels a pull to do so, to free the people being experimented on. She just feels as though it won't be a pretty sight when they do find them, from what Bucky described. And those poor people, they'll most likely have some major issues, both physically and mentally, if they are alive. It sounds like an enormous task, but since when have the Commandos not been up for a challenge?

In the far distance, because they can see for miles from their vantage point with nothing to block their view, Isabel spots a cloud of dust coming toward them along the road. Bucky isn't looking in that direction, his eyes are flicking around the factory in search of any rogue Hydra agents. When Isabel squints, she can just make out a car, a black spot against the brown landscape.

"Buck, look, ten o'clock" she says, tapping Bucky's shoulder. He turns to look too, eyes widening when he spots the car, considerably closer now. It must be moving at an unimaginable speed.

Bucky quickly swivels and points his sniper rifle at the car, following it through the scope as it comes toward them. "It's just a transport truck," Bucky says, relief coursing through him when he knows it isn't the Red Skull or Madame Hydra coming to join the party. He gets his radio out of his pocket and lifts the antenna. "Steve? It's Bucky. We got a car approaching down the road, ETA one minute. Over."

The white noise comes over then, before Steve's voice comes through, hollow sounding through the speakers. " _Roger that, Buck. I'm coming out with Dernier, he's got the gun Stark made him. Over._ "

Not half a minute later, Steve emerges from the front doors of the factory with Dernier by his side, the gun Isabel had seen in Howard's factory safely in Dernier's capable hands. The car's extremely close now, and it slows to a stop when the driver notices the star-spangled man standing by the front doors like the ultimate blockade to whatever they'd had planned. Steve's brows furrow in determination, his jaw setting tight. There's a small smirk to the edge of his lips.

Seconds later, a bunch of Hydra soldiers jump from the back of the truck, coming around with their pistols raised to fire, all of them yelling variations of _"Captain America"_. Bucky starts shooting at them as they jump out of the truck, their feet not even hitting the ground before they find a bullet through their skulls, hitting the hard ground with a sick thud and making a pile on the road.

At Steve's nod, Dernier lifts the weapon in his hands, flips the switch, and pulls the trigger. The small bomb seems to float through the air in slow motion before coming in contact with the bonnet of the truck. It explodes in a massive fireball, hot air blasting out from it as the truck is forced up into the air, bits and pieces of metal and body spraying all over the area and onto the factory roof. Steve ducks behind his shield with Dernier, heavy pieces of metal bouncing off. Isabel and Bucky cower behind the sand dune, shielding their heads with their hands against the rain of debris. A particularly large piece of metal lands on Bucky's back, making him yelp quietly. When they look up, there's nothing left where the car had stopped except a scorch mark on the ground.

Suddenly, a large intact piece of the back of the truck, wheel included, falls from the sky and lands in a smokey heap where Isabel and Bucky had originally been waiting. Luckily, they moved to a new position or they would've been squashed had they not seen it coming. They see Steve's face fall and he sprints up the sand dune to the spot, looking for them frantically, leaving Dernier at the doors of the factory.

Bucky lets Steve panic for a moment. Isabel knows better than to shout across the expanse, and Bucky holds the radio out of Isabel's reach so she can't contact Steve before he finally gives in, pressing the button and whistling quietly into the radio. Steve pulls it out and then looks around, just spotting the scope of Bucky's rifle on the top of the sand dune. Relief floods his entire body as he climbs over the sand dune to their side and comes running over to them. Isabel waves to him sheepishly.

"You scared him," Isabel berates her brother with a glare.

"He deserved it, he gave us away," Bucky says, before he tells Steve the same thing.

"I'm sorry, Buck. I keep forgetting," Steve apologises.

"Yeah, you do," Bucky says with a smirk, standing to his feet beside Steve. "You find anything?"

"No, nothing," Steve says, looking defeated and grateful at once. "It's just a weapons factory, they don't even have a basement. We searched the whole building for any hidden corridors and rooms and found nothing. There isn't even an experimentation room. I don't think Zola's ever set foot here."

"Alright, let's blow it to the ground and get out of here. It's too damn hot," Bucky tells Steve.

The two siblings follow Steve back into the factory and inside. It's just as hot within the walls of the building, even more humid, if possible. The factory is mainly just a weapons manufacturing facility, rows and rows of assembly lines scattered across the floor with weapons in various stages of completion. They've got explosives, firearms, a barrel of grenades, and even a few tanks at the back corner. But mainly now, the factory floor is covered in a mass of bodies, all of them noticeably Hydra workers with their black uniforms and masks.

Steve leads them to the waiting group, none of them looking too worse for wear. Isabel notices blood on their faces and uniforms, but she doubts it's theirs. Dugan and Falsworth are standing beside a massive turbine, like an engine from a plane. Dugan slaps a hand on it as Steve approaches. "This is an engine for the Valkyrie, Cap. They had us building another engine back at Azzano, just like this one. It's finished. No doubt they were preparing to ship it out."

"Whatever plane it's for, it's big," Monty says. "Like, unimaginably big. I'm not quite sure how they think something of that size will fly."

"What's a Valkyrie?" Isabel asks, cocking her head.

"It's the massive plane Hydra is building. We don't know what for, but the one-oh-seventh was tasked with helping to build the individual parts before they're shipped off to another Hydra location where the Valkyrie will be put together and launched from. We presume it's for dropping bombs," Steve says.

"Why does the plane need to be so big?" Isabel asks, looking at the massive turbine that stands nearly to the ceiling. "The bomber planes that we use are only small, and they can do lots of damage."

"Presumably because these bombs they're dropping are _big,_ too."

Isabel thinks for a moment, cocking her head again in thought. "If the Red Skull and Zola find a way to power the Valkyrie with the Tesseract, the same way they power their weaponry, I don't see why it wouldn't fly, despite it's weight and size. The Tesseract, apparently, is an unlimited power source."

"Explains why they have unlimited weapons," Morita mentions.

"Uh, are you sure it's meant to be a plane?" Isabel asks, looking to Steve for an answer.

"Yes," Dugan says instead, in a _duh_ sort of fashion. "What else would it be?"

"Well, the Norse mythology that Hydra refers to for information regarding the Tesseract says that the Tesseract acts something like a portal. That if a person knows how to use it, they can open doorways to anywhere else in the universe or to another dimension without the need to physically travel there. Space travel."

"That makes no sense," Monty says, looking confused.

"I'm not an expert, but I've been helping Howard work out what's in those cartridges that Hydra loads into their weaponry. The cartridges with the blue energy are extracts from the Tesseract, which has unlimited energy so, as we said, they have unlimited firepower. When they use the energy and their target disintegrates, the target isn't just turned to ash; it is taken from its position and dropped somewhere else within a blink. It goes to a different dimension, or to a different planet, or maybe its just deposited into the abyss of space. We don't know where it goes, and I don't think Hydra does, either. They haven't got any control over the energy or where it sends the target. But, if they work out how to choose where the target will teleport to... what if they want to use the Valkyrie as, like, a spaceship or something? To travel through space and time, or to a different dimension."

Everyone is silent, and then Dugan begins to laugh, rowdy and loud. "I think you've been reading too many fairy tales, sweetheart."

"I'm being serious! If Hydra wins the war, which we don't want to happen, they will conquer the world. But since when is Hydra going to stop at the world? What's stopping them from already thinking of total domination? If they can use the Tesseract as a portal to space and they get up there and find out what's in space, something _no one else_ on earth knows, then they have the monopoly. They have the control. They could take over other planets, the whole universe. Think about it."

"I am thinking about it, and it sounds ridiculous," Dugan says, but no one seems to agree with him. Steve looks curious and thoughtful, Bucky intrigued, the others confused but listening.

"Okay, even if they don't use it as a spaceship. Let's scrap the whole space idea. What better way to control the world than to be able to teleport from one side to the other in seconds rather than the hours it takes to fly. If they can be anywhere, any time."

Dugan looks more open to this idea. His eyebrow cocks, his moustache flicking on his lip as he literally chews it over, chewing on his bottom lip.

"And let's suppose they don't work out how to teleport, suppose that isn't possible. The Tesseract is still insanely powerful, and these engines can probably accommodate that," Isabel continues, slapping her own hand on the metal of the engine. "Using the Tesseract's power, the Valkyrie could get around the world fast enough that they do it in minutes, not hours. In a single flight. Hell, it would never have to land if they didn't want it to since they have unlimited fuel." She turns to Dugan then, looking determined. "I bet you it's powered by the Tesseract."

"How much do you bet?" Dugan asks, taking the challenge.

"How much do you bet?" Isabel pushes, raising an eyebrow.

Dugan thinks about it. "Twenty bucks says you're wrong."

Isabel's eyebrow rises higher on her forehead before she shakes Dugan's hand. "No, honey. Twenty bucks says _you're_ wrong. When we get back to base I'll be having a little chat with Mister Stark, and I think you'll find he'll be in my favour."

* * *

Dernier has run off somewhere, rummaging through the equipment left behind. He emerges after a while, talking away to himself in French and reveals to them the explosives he's found – bombs he can stick to the walls and detonate when they're far enough away. He walks around the room and sets them up, sticking one to every one of the four walls and then to a few of the explosives stacked in neat rows on the floor. The factory really doesn't stand a chance.

Steve leads them all to the back of the factory where the vehicles are all standing, some of them with their engines still idling, the drivers slumped over the steering wheel in their seats. It's clearly a loading bay for Hydra to transport the weapons and supplies to and from the factory. There's motorbikes, tanks, cars and trucks.

The Commandos go through and check them all, trying to see which has the most petrol. There's no use running out of gas halfway through the desert. The truck Dugan goes to ends up being the one with the most petrol. He peers over the man who's slumped in the seat, the keys in the ignition but not turned on, just able to see the petrol gauge is right to the top. When he comes around the other side, he sees that the car is still connected up to the petrol pump being refuelled. It probably should have been a giveaway.

"This one's got a full tank," Dugan tells Steve, hooking his thumb toward the truck behind him. "If you get the dead guy out of the driver's seat you can take it for a spin?" He offers Steve, smiling at him. Dark humour, it really works.

Steve makes quick work of the deceased Hydra goon, placing him on the ground gently despite the fact the factory is going to be set to explode with him in it. Steve goes to get in the drivers' seat, but pauses when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns to see Isabel standing behind him with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.

"I believe you promised I could drive? The conditions are all optimal," she says cheekily, sauntering up to him. "You wouldn't want to be known as a liar, would you, honey?" She runs a hand over his shoulder, smirking up at him playfully.

Steve gulps, dutifully handing over the keys without saying a word. He goes around to the passenger seat and Isabel gets in behind the wheel, looking at the controls like a kid in a candy shop.

"You know how it works?" Steve asks.

"You didn't even have a licence before we came here, Steve," Bucky argues. " _We_ had to teach _you_ how to drive."

"Gearshift," Steve says pointedly loud to ignore Bucky, gesturing to the stick attached to the wheel. "Clutch, gas, brake," he continues, pointing to the pedals.

He runs her through the method of how to drive, how to change gears. She listens intently even though Howard already hold her the basics that time in the plane, aware of how long it's taking for him to explain and the fact they're sitting idling in an enemy factory that Dernier is just itching to blow up.

"And the steering wheel, don't forget that," a voice says from the back, but they can't make out who. Isabel has a suspicion it's Dugan.

"This is going to be fun," another voice mumbles, and she knows that sarcastic voice is Bucky.

Their clear undermining of her abilities fuels her and she's determined to be able to drive, to show them up. "Got it," Isabel says.

She puts her feet on both the clutch and brake as she starts the car. The engine revs to life beneath them, powerful and loud as a diesel. She pushes the stick into first gear, releases the brake, revs the engine, and immediately stalls. The cabin fills with the smell of clutch, and Steve wrinkles his nose. The men in the back laugh, jolting forward like it's a ride at Coney Island.

Isabel takes a deep breath and tries again. Clutch, brake, ignition, first gear, rev engine to 2000RPM, slowly release the clutch. The car slowly starts to roll forward, and she pushes on the gas, steering them out of the parking garage through the open garage door. Steve looks immensely proud beside her – whether it's because of his teaching or for her performance, she doesn't know, but she'd bet on it's her.

They roll out into the open and she turns right, steering them around the side of the factory in the direction of France, rolling faster. The engine gets a bit loud, protesting at them as they pass the main entrance to the factory and veer slightly onto the road.

"Put the clutch in and switch up to second," Steve reminds her quietly.

She does as he instructs, the engine giving for a moment before shooting up into second gear and flying forward faster. Isabel stays at a low speed though so that they can watch as the factory goes up. She swerves easily around the remaining fiery debris of the approaching truck they'd taken out, leaving it simmering on the road in their wake.

When they're far enough away Dernier presses a button on the explosive's ignition switch in his hand, and seconds later, the factory explodes behind them in a mass of flames, only second in size to the explosion he caused in the mountain, not that Isabel was awake to see it. It goes up in smokes, the flames as red as the dirt below it, debris littering the once unventured-into land all around. The Commandos watch out the back through the canvas flaps, the sky around them darkening from the black smoke. Isabel splits her attention between the dirt track and the rear-view mirror until eventually the obliterated factory behind them gets smaller and disappears over the horizon. The Commandos cheer at another job well done, settling back into their seats.

Isabel puts her foot on the gas to high-tail them out of there. She switches to third when the engine tells her, then to fourth and finally to fifth, the highest gear. Her gear changes are a little sloppy and jerky, and the Commandos rock around in the back, but eventually they're flying away across the barren landscape, following the path created by Hydra.

"She's no worse than the first time Cap drove," Morita tells them all, sounding a little proud of his fellow medic. "Maybe she can be our designated driver from now on. We'll certainly get there faster."

Isabel drives a lot faster than Steve does, speeding through the sand at a whopping speed, a red dust cloud of dirt flying up at the back in their wake. The Commandos love it, cheering and egging her on while Steve holds on a bit tight to the dash in front of him, a look of fear on his face that he tries to hide behind a tight smile.

"Let your hair down, Stevie," Bucky tells Steve, leaning over the seat to talk to him and hitting his friend on the shoulder. "If we crash, it's not like _you'll_ die."

"We won't crash, I was taught to drive by the best. And I don't mean you, Stevie, I mean Howard. He taught me how to fly a plane and drive a car at the same time," Isabel informs them, swerving a bit on the wide track to avoid a large tumbleweed in the middle of the road. "What are we supposed to crash into anyway? It's deserted."

"Get it, because it's a desert?" Dugan laughs in the back.

"Yes, Dugan, I do believe that was the joke," Falsworth tells his American friend with little humour, pulling another flask from his pack.

* * *

Isabel drives for hours, the landscape never changing. She must admit, now that she's in the safe confines of the car with the air blowing in through the vents to cool them, that the desert is beautiful. Maybe it's just because she's never seen it except in pictures. The red dirt is continuous, but it's harshness and bright colour just show how dangerously beautiful it really is. The rolling red hills and canyons are truly untouched, and no one dares to penetrate the expansive landscape, except Hydra, of course, but they're a parasite; they can adapt to any landscape, and that's what makes them so frighteningly dangerous.

Eventually the dirt tracks they've been following through the desert join up with the main bitumen road that winds through the valleys, and Isabel turns onto it, barely stepping on the brake. There's no cars anywhere, the roads deserted. She speeds off down the cemented road, sticking to the correct side thankfully.

Falsworth directs her to veer off to the right, wanting to avoid going anywhere near the city of Madrid. Although Spain isn't technically fighting with the war, their ideology does side with the Axis powers, and Spanish soldiers have volunteered to fight for the German Army since nineteen-forty-one. While there was a clear and guaranteed condition that the Spanish volunteers would only fight against the Soviet's Communism on the Eastern Front and not against the Western Allies of any Western European occupied populations, they still feel a sense of unease at being in Spain, considering Steve is literally the embodiment of the American military. They aren't entirely sure their presence would be welcomed.

In the back, Falsworth tries to keep up with where they are on the map, and after a while informs them they are only a few hours from the border to France. Isabel's driven almost the entirety of the Spanish country within about eight hours, but her speed has actually been a blessing considering it's helped to preserve petrol. They'll get closer to home before they run out.

By the time Steve tells Isabel to pull over, her eyes are looking a little tired, and she's been driving for more than half the day, the sky starting to darken as twilight approaches once again. Isabel pulls over dutifully on the side of the road, shifting gears down again. The car comes to a stop, not because she put her boot all the way down on the brake, but because she stalls, having not put the clutch in again, and everyone is thrown forward just a bit with the sudden halt, laughing.

Instead of getting out of the car, Steve just grabs Isabel and lifts her over his lap, sitting her in the passenger side of the bench seat and sliding behind the wheel. After a second, Steve takes off again, leaving a dust of dirt behind him. He drives a little faster than usual.

Since they'll be entering France sometime during the night, they're all a little glad that Steve's driving. Considering the country is currently under German control, they know that as soon as they enter France, they're more likely to encounter others, and they may even need to evade the enemy. It's better to have an experienced driver behind the wheel.

Isabel scoots over to him on the bench seat, fitting herself under his free arm. "Thanks for letting me drive, Stevie. It was fun," she tells him, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek.

Steve leans into the kiss, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, all while not taking his eyes off the road. "Anything for my best girl."

* * *

 **A/N:** The Tabernas Desert is a real desert in Spain. All of the descriptions about its geography and landscape are true because not only am I a history nerd, I also love biology. And everything Bucky says about it is true as well because he's smart.

Everything Bucky says about the North Star is also true because he's my little science nerd and I just love it. The North Star, or Polaris, is a star found in the sky in the Northern Hemisphere that appears fixed in the sky, the other stars circling around it in a wheel from east to west. It is _not_ the brightest star in the sky and is commonly believed, and _is_ a moderately bright second-magnitude star as Bucky tells Morita. Sailors and scouts' livelihoods and survival used to depend on stars which they used as direction, and Polaris always pointed north. If it is in front of you, you're facing north; behind you and you're facing south. Give it a try, star gazing is fun. I hope you've all enjoyed your little astronomy lesson :)

The Spanish State under authoritarian leader Francisco Franco did not officially join the Axis Powers during World War II, but their ideology did somewhat fit with the Axis outlook, and Franco's regime supplied material and military support to the Axis. This was also in part due to the heavy assistance that Spain received from both Germany and Italy during the Spanish Civil War, which they believed they had a duty to repay. As of June ninteen-forty-one, Spanish volunteers joined the German Army to fight against Bolshevism (Soviet Communism) on the Eastern Front, and not against the Western Allies or any Western European occupied populations. In this manner, Franco could keep Spain at peace with the Western Allies, while repaying German support during the Spanish Civil War and providing an outlet for the strong anti-Communist sentiments of many Spanish nationalists. However, despite ideology sympathy and providing volunteers, eventually, Franco stationed armies in the Pyrenees to deter any German occupation of the Iberian Peninsula. The Spanish's policy frustrated the Germans, who proposed they take British-controlled Gibraltar. Franco did consider joining the war and invading Gibraltar in nineteen-forty after the Fall of France, but knew his armed forces were not strong enough to defend the Canary Islands and Spanish Morocco from the British attack that would follow in retribution.

Also, just FYI, on Google Maps it apparently takes about seven hours to drive from the Tabernas Desert to Zaragoza, Spain, where I imagine Steve would have asked Isabel to pull over so they could swap. From there, it's about another seven hours of driving to the location where Steve and the Commandos will stop in the next chapter. Definitely a doable distance in a day, especially with how empty the country would have been.


	50. Chapter 49

**49.**

 **Avignon, France**

 **July 25th, 1944**

Steve drives into the late hours of the night, eventually passing the open border into France and leaving Spain far behind. He navigates through the winding roads of the French country side, through the forests and the open plains, heading for an allied camp. He doesn't know which one, but he'll find one.

The rest of the Commandos fell asleep in the back of the truck once dark settled over the country and they've been snoring away for hours. Isabel eventually fell asleep against Steve's shoulder and he carefully manoeuvred her down so that she was curled up on the bench seat, her head resting against his leg. He pets her hair as he steers with one arm, rarely needing to change gears except for when he goes down or uphill or comes to a tight corner.

Steve sneaks a look at the petrol gauge, seeing it is getting low, just passing the quarter tank mark. Only a few more hours of driving and they'll run out.

When Steve drives past Montpellier, the road splits into two and he takes the one toward Lyon, staying on the main roads so they'll get wherever they're going faster. He knows it puts them at risk of attack, but at such hours of the morning he doesn't expect any troops to be awake, and any watchmen would barely notice a German army truck pass with its headlights off.

Steve follows the road as it winds down the side of a low mountain range, around and around in a seemingly endless spiral before they emerge on the flat again. The car putters along underneath him, a comforting sound. He wishes he had some music though to keep him preoccupied. He isn't tired, not at all, but it's boring being alone for so many hours, left only with his thoughts.

Eventually, the sun starts to rise, and the green French landscape is thrust into the light once again. The Commandos slowly start to stir, used to waking up at an ungodly hour, stretching and yawning in the back of the truck. Isabel stays asleep on the seat next to Steve, looking peaceful. Steve doesn't have the heart to wake her, not even when the men get the last of their rations out and eat their breakfast, though there isn't enough for all of them to be full. Living on the SSR base has its advantages, but when it comes to food, it's given them a false sense of being comfortably full at all times, particularly when they venture back out to the front.

Bucky passes Steve his share, pausing to smile down at his sister with the same look he gives Becca. Steve looks over and smiles appreciatively; Isabel's lucky having such a family with an older brother who loves her unconditionally. Steve always wished growing up that he had siblings, and it had taken him a while to realise that Bucky was the stand in, that Bucky played that role for him. Ever since he worked that out, he's been so eternally grateful. And now, he realises, the world threw him another bone and gave him another five brothers. In that moment, looking out at the morning sun warming the world and the rolling green hills before them, Steve realises he really is lucky, too.

Isabel stirs awake when they drive over a pothole in the road that throws her up in her seat. She sits up immediately, eyes wide as she looks around. She slumps back when she realises where they are, rubbing at her eyes before looking out at the landscape.

"Where are we?" She asks groggily, frowning over at Steve.

"We're headed to Lyon. Stark could pick us up from there, there's supposed to be an allied airfield not far from the city. But I think it'd be best if we stopped at the next town for some real food, if we can. And for some fuel, we're getting low. But we won't stop if the town isn't allied-held. I don't think any of us feel like a fight today," Steve tells them.

"Sounds good, Cap, my rations taste like someone pissed on them," Dugan says sourly around a mouthful of a protein bar, spitting his bite of the bar out the back of the truck.

"Maybe they did, Dum Dum," Jones says cheerfully, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You did fall asleep first last night."

Steve drives for a while longer along the road before they come across the next town. The metal sign on the town's outskirt says that it is Avignon, but it's bent and burnt in a way that makes all of their stomach's turn. Ahead, across the river, they can just make out the city, or what used to be of it. Even from afar, they can see that it's been bombed severely. From the smoke rising into the air, rather recently too. A good majority of the buildings are misshapen, piles of rubble that used to be beautiful architectural structures. They're surprised the bridge is even intact, as in these sorts of battles, the bridges are the first to be blown to stop people from evacuating the city.

Their car passes over the bridge across the flowing river and into the edge of the township. They sit there for a long while on the road, watching and waiting and surveying the area searching for any signs of allied or axis soldiers, or even townspeople themselves. The Allies are supposed to have been pushing through France, moving the enemy further into Europe toward Germany. Surely by now, Steve thinks, they would have managed to take these parts of France?

"We shouldn't walk through," Steve eventually mutters when there's still no sign of life.

"Maybe there's no one here?" Isabel suggests. "Maybe it was evacuated?"

"Perhaps," Steve agrees. "But it has this feeling, you know? It feels like its still alive."

"Well if the town is held by us, what do you think they're going to do if they see us driving a German armoured vehicle?" Bucky retorts.

"I think the American flag draped around the Captain may persuade them," Dugan jokes from the back.

"If we see our guys, we get out. If we see others, we keep on driving through?" Jones suggests.

Steve looks down at the petrol gauge again and shakes his head. "We won't get far. It's on empty. This is our only option, or else we're on foot. If we could just find some gas and fill up, we could keep going. Keep your eyes peeled."

He presses on the accelerator and the car slowly lurches forward, puttering through the town at a snail's pace. The roads are covered in debris, buildings demolished in no pattern, just large areas dissipated by the fall of bombs from above. The truck bounces all around as it drives over bits of building. There's no sign of human life anywhere, no one walking through the demolished streets, no movement in any of the still standing windows. But even so, there could be eyes watching. Their armoured vehicle provides a lot of protection with its metal exterior, and in the event of an emergency, they could easily escape.

"Maybe we shouldn't stop," Bucky suggests from where he leans into the driver's cabin, eyes wide as he stares out the windshield. He's got that worried frown on his face again, his shoulders tense and his knuckles white where they cling to his rifle.

They're driving down the town's main street, lined with shops and pubs and establishments, and Steve finds himself distractedly looking around at the smoking ruins. He spots the petrol station in the far distance, up the end of the main street when Isabel suddenly screeches. He slams on the brakes and comes to a sudden stop just before he runs over a mass of bodies lying in the street, lined up along the white paint line of the middle of the roadway.

Isabel hurriedly opens the door and gets out of the car before Steve can stop her, running over to the line, about thirty bodies long. She bends down next to the closest body, but quickly stands up and moves away holding her nose and cringing. Steve gets out too and comes closer, hurrying to cover Isabel with the shield. Just because the town looks deserted, doesn't mean it is. As he does, he looks at the bodies, seeing that the men, women and children were clearly killed in the bombings all those days or weeks ago – they're missing limbs, their skins scorched, their faces unrecognisable, and the smell… Steve leans over and gags at the smell, holding his nose and his stomach as he brings up his rations. He's only ever smelt anything like that once before, the horrible odour of burnt and decaying human flesh, and that was when he himself was burnt.

"They've been dead for at least a week," Isabel tells him, her voice muffled through her hand as she looks away, wide eyes burning a hole through the badge on the front of their truck to concentrate on anything else. "The way they've all been laid out like this, I'd say the surviving townspeople went through and found them all. They're identifying them before they bury them. Would've been better had they not been laid out in the sun."

Steve nods in agreement, still looking very sick. If they've been found like this and laid out to be put to rest, the town is most likely not deserted as they'd thought. Perhaps it is allied-controlled, and the people of the town are enjoying a lazy morning. They can hardly expect the stores and businesses to open in the light of such an event, and when many of the workers are likely deceased.

Steve still isn't willing to take any unnecessary risks. He hurries Isabel back into the protection of the truck, getting her into the passenger seat before climbing back behind the wheel.

"You can't just run out into the open like that," he starts to tell her, when his eye catches movement in the distance at the end of the street in front of the church that sits at the t-junction of the main street of the town. He narrows his eyes, spotting the two men walking as they patrol the streets, rifles raised. They're German, a swastika on their shoulder. "Get down," Steve tells Isabel, pushing her down so her head is below the dash.

Almost as if on cue, the men spot the Hydra truck sitting in the middle of the street. They start toward it with their guns raised warily, not shooting. Hydra may be German, but they aren't following the German regime, they have their own agenda, and these men are right to be wary of the Hydra truck in the middle of the town they're clearly still occupying despite the bombings. No doubt, they've probably been told that Hydra is just as much an enemy to them as the Americans or the British.

"Drive, Cap!" Falsworth says.

Steve does so, slamming the car into reverse and pushing down on the accelerator. The car goes about ten feet before it starts to sputter and jump and then the engine cuts out and they roll to a stop.

"Damn it!"

They look up and the soldiers have stopped, rifles raised toward them and expressions wary. They start again toward the truck once it stops rolling.

Steve lets the men get close enough before he flings the shield at them through the still open door. They look surprised to see the red, white and blue disc come at them like a giant frisbee before it hits them with blunt force right in the stomach, sending them both down with a painful thud. They don't move again. Steve jumps out of the truck and collects up the shield.

"Wait here!" He yells, mainly to Isabel, before he starts off through the town toward the church ahead. Bucky, Jones and Dernier follow right on his tail with their weapons at the ready.

Isabel sits up on her elbows, peering over the seat at Dugan and Falsworth who've stayed in the truck. Their guns are trained on the streets around them and their eyes watchful. There could be people waiting in any of the buildings, could be some patrolling down any street. It isn't safe to be exposed and be so out in the open. Isabel knows it, and the two other Commandos know it as well.

"We need to get to cover," Dugan decides.

The men jump from the back and Isabel ditches herself out the passenger door, following Dugan as he leads them across the street into a nearby building, a pub by the looks the bar at the back of the large room, that hasn't been totally demolished and ruined by explosives. The front wall has been somewhat crumbled, the large window smashed, but it provides cover for them and an opening to see through and shoot through if they need. The three of them duck down low behind the crumbling wall, beside the blown out street-facing window. To their left, the wall has fallen down, opening up into the next establishment, a small bakery with baked goods rotting in the display cases. Dugan sneaks a peak at the cakes and groans with hunger despite the mould coating the pastries.

The town isn't eerily silent anymore. They can hear the Commandos somewhere in the distance yelling out commands and warnings, shooting, the shield banging off walls and people. The sounds echo through the seemingly barren streets, sounding much closer than they probably are. Though, they really have no way to tell how close or far they are. For all they know, the fighting could be just on the other side of the buildings on the other side of the street from them, or right in front of the church, just out of their sight.

They hear a whole lot of yelling in German, the firing of guns back, the explosion of grenades. The ground seems to tremble beneath them with every explosion. They suspect Frenchy is using his newfound pride and joy once again.

"Maybe we should head that way, help them," Dugan suggests to Falsworth.

"We can't leave Barnes alone," Falsworth argues.

Then, suddenly, there are German voices much closer to them, the sound of pounding footsteps. A group of the German patrol is escaping the destruction that the Commandos are wrecking on the town. The group run down the main street toward the other three hiding Commandos. Isabel peeks around the wall. There's about fifteen of them in the group, fright frozen on their faces, looking back over their shoulders toward the Church as they run. They skid to a stop, however, at the sight of the dead truck in the middle of the road. They approach the truck warily, peering inside the open passenger door and the back flaps, only finding a bunch of backpacks. They look confused for a moment, a Hydra truck with American gear inside–

"Get your gun out, Baby Barnes," Dugan whispers to Isabel without taking his eyes off the scene in front of them.

"I've already got it," Isabel replies, showing him her loaded pistol.

"Good. If they see us, prepare for a firefight."

"What–"

Before Isabel can reply, the German men scatter the area. Whether it is in search of them, because surely they knew a few of them were missing from the firefight a few streets over, or whether it is to find cover thinking they may be a target, none of them are sure. They wait with baited breath as the men spread, and a good eight of them head straight toward them. They pause again as they get closer, spotting Dugan's gun sticking out from behind the wall, and they begin to shoot.

Dugan and Falsworth shoot back immediately. Dugan nails one man in the chest, the leader of the group who was getting his radio from his pocket to inform the others of their discovery. Not that the gunfire isn't enough of a lead, but they don't need it sparking a fullblown man hunt for them all that could leave them grossly outnumbered, especially as their group is split in two.

At the sounds of returning gunfire, the German soldiers immediately duck down, those who haven't already been taken down by a bullet diving for cover behind the Hydra truck. Dugan and Falsworth fire back and forth, hiding from the shots that come straight back at them. It's loud, incredibly loud, and the bullets pound into the wall that Isabel hides behind, too afraid to shoot her own pistol alongside Dugan and Falsworth.

Bucky showed her how to use it. He'd taken her to the firing range at the base many times when she joined the Commandos and she'd done well. And every time they're at one of the camps before a mission, he has her practise. He makes her stand in the muddy road and aim at a poor Coca Cola can on the fence line, makes her shoot and shoot until she finally hits it. It doesn't take many attempts, her shot isn't too bad, but he always picks her up for her stance being terrible and apparently her breathing is still wrong, something she didn't know was a thing. They practised everyday until she was an _okay_ shot, and now they're working toward good. Okay or good, and definitely not a professional, especially when compared to the skill level of the Commandos. She's only ever shot one person before and that was pure luck. She can't fire under the circumstances with the threat of a bullet landing on her. It could kill her, it could be a head shot. She doesn't want to die. She can't get wounded in case she needs to help one of the others–

Dugan doesn't give her a choice. His gun clicks to inform him he's out of ammo and he quickly scuffles around her to her other side behind the thicker part of the wall as he reloads. Falsworth is their last line of defence. Isabel watches in distress as Falsworth fires back and forth. Surely he'll run out of ammo soon–

"What are you doing?" Dugan yells to her over the noise, pushing on her arm. "Shoot back! You don't have to hit them, just scare 'em!"

Isabel stares at him wide eyed and he pushes her harder, right toward the opening of the broken glass. She ducks behind the safety of the wall, glaring at Dugan. She peers around the wall carefully, sizing up the area, just as Falsworth's own rifle clicks empty. Isabel feels a rush of adrenaline at being their only line of defence. They can't halt their barrage of bullets or else the Germans will take the opportunity to advance on them. Isabel quickly raises her pistol with a shaking hand, her finger on the trigger. _Pull it, pull it_ , she yells to herself, and then she does.

The gun trembles as it releases the bullets, getting hotter in her hand, one after the other in a barrage at the German men. Most of them miss, hitting along the side of the Hydra truck, but there's no one to shoot anyway, since the Germans cower behind the truck. One lone bullet makes its way through the shoulder of one man who bravely ventures out from behind the truck, sending him to the ground with a scream. Isabel doesn't do much else or cause much damage, but her bullets halt the Germans from trying their chance at leaning around the edge of the truck long enough for Dugan and Falsworth to reload and get back into position.

"Good, BB," Dugan congratulates her, pushing her back behind the wall.

Isabel lets him, a little wide-eyed, and quickly reloads her pistol with shaking hands, ready in case they need her again. She recites the pieces in her head, just as Bucky had made her, grateful for him engraving it into her mind. The pieces slot together without complaint and her hands move without hesitation, acting as though they actually know the gun and what to do with it. But it's all just a facade, an elaborate facade that Bucky's thrust upon her. She truly has no idea what she's doing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel sees movement through the hole in the wall that leads into the bakery next door, equally demolished by the bombings. Her head snaps up, particularly at the faint sound of a floorboard creaking, only just audible over the firefight. She gasps when there stands a man, German, coming toward them to take them out from behind. He's sneaking quietly, hoping to go unnoticed, and he had until now.

Isabel acts quickly. Neither Dugan nor Falsworth have noticed the man, too concentrated on their current fight. She can't let the man shoot Dugan or Falsworth, especially not at this close range; they'd never make it out. She raises her pistol before the sneaky soldier can raise his own, and maybe he doesn't even realise she has a weapon or doesn't see her as a threat, and he certainly doesn't expect it when she aims right for his head on reflex, just as Bucky trained her in the shooting range. She doesn't even hesitate when she pulls the trigger, the shot making Dugan and Falsworth jump beside her. The bullet whizzes right between the man's eyes, a spray of dark red blood bursting out from behind his head where the bullet goes all the way through his skull. He sways for a moment on the spot before falling forward, his head only mere centimetres from Isabel's feet. Dugan and Falsworth stare at the man for a mere millisecond before getting back to the fight.

But Isabel stares at him with wide eyes, unable to look away from his still features, the way his eyes stare at the wall, the red that soaks his entire face and the floorboards beneath him. _I just killed someone. I just killed another person_ , she finds herself thinking, over and over.

She isn't sure how long she's sat there staring, but it can't be long. Dugan and Falsworth haven't even run out of ammo again by the time she jolts. Dugan yells something loud, and a small round grenade flies in through the window above their heads. Isabel's on her feet before she can really think about it, running over the man's unmoving body through the open hole in the wall before the grenade hits the ground. The three of them run away and they hear the clang as the grenade hits the floorboards further inside the burnt-out pub. Time seems to slow right down as they run over the debris of the next building, trying to get as far away as possible before it detonates.

It seems to be taking so long for the grenade to explode that Isabel thinks it may have been a dud. They just make it through to the next building as the grenade explodes behind them, sending the pub up in flames. The fire fills the entire room where they'd just been, forcing its way through the hole in the wall, hot on their heels. They feel the fire lick their backs as the force of the explosion sends them all to the floor, landing hard against the debris. Isabel holds her hands over her head, keeping low to the ground to shield herself from the plaster and rubble and wood that falls all over them, the entire pub obliterated behind them.

Falsworth had been at the back of the group and the flames managed to catch his uniform on fire. He quickly rolls around on his back to try to extinguish it, Dugan hurriedly patting him down to help.

"Are you burnt?" Isabel asks, crawling over to him on her belly and keeping low considering the Germans are still right outside.

"No, just my uniform," Falsworth reassures her, despite looking petrified.

The three Commandos quickly crawl over to the bakery's front window and hunker behind the wall, peering carefully outside at the truck that's now a bit further down the road from them. The remaining Germans that haven't been taken down, only about four of them, are up and approaching the burnt pub, guns at their sides, apparently thinking the three had perished in the blaze.

"We're lucky that grenade had a seven-second fuse," Falsworth whispers gratefully. "They have old weaponry, like pre-40. The new ones only give you four seconds."

"Yeah, lucky," Dugan mutters. "Let's hope they don't have another. There's nowhere for us to go this time 'cept out in the open. They'll pick us off like-"

They hear gunshots from outside and immediately duck down again. The three watch as Bucky and Jones come racing down the street, letting out a string of accurate shots from their rifles that take down the last four Germans easily.

Bucky takes one look at the bullet riddled truck and prays his friends hadn't stayed in there. His eyes flick to the smouldering pub and his brows furrow. Seconds later, Isabel, Falsworth and Dugan emerge from the bakery. Bucky swivels toward the sound with his rifle aimed at them, but immediately lowers it at the sight of them, their arms raised in the universal sign for peace.

"They damn tried to blow us up, and then you try to shoot us up," Dugan tells Bucky. "It hasn't been such a good mornin', Sarge."

"I wasn't gonna shoot you," Bucky reassures. "We've taken 'em all out near the church. These guys were the last," Bucky says, hooking his thumb at the four he just killed on the ground behind him. "I saw the group of them run this way toward you but none of us could get free of the others to take them out until now."

"We had it covered," Falsworth reassures.

"You okay, Is?" Bucky asks, looking worriedly at his sister. She looks a little bit singed, the ash from the pub having covered her, and she's got a few cuts and scrapes, but other than that she looks unharmed.

When her eyes flick to him, they're a little wide, but steely. "Fine," she reassures.

The men quickly sweep the street to ensure they're in the clear. When Jones returns with a silent nod, Isabel runs back to the truck and grabs her and Morita's medical kits before she follows after her brother and friends, heading down the street to the church where the rest of the Commandos are waiting and doing some final sweeps of the town for rogue soldiers.

"What happened here?" Dugan is asking Bucky when Isabel catches up.

"The town got bombed about a week ago by the Allies trying to drive the Germans out. There's a factory on this side of town, only a block that way. The Germans were producing weaponry there and were basically holding the town hostage. The Allied bombers weren't exactly accurate; they took out half of the town with them and they actually missed the factory, so they had to come back and try again, and the townspeople got hit twice," Bucky explains hurriedly, his face falling. "Those who survived were trying to pick up the pieces, finding their dead and slowly getting through burying them when a troop of German soldiers came through the town to inspect the damage to their factory, we presume. They thought it'd be a good idea to scare all of the townspeople a bit more. Shoved them all into the church and then looted what was left of the town. We came through just in time to save them all." He says the last part ominously, as though looting hadn't been the soldiers' only objective. Dugan nods knowingly.

"Save them all from what?" Isabel asks.

Bucky sighs, rubbing his forehead in exhaustion. "A few months ago, there was a massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane. The Germans came through, locked the women and children in the church, looted the village. Then they led the men to the farm sheds and..." He pauses, licks his lips and looks at his sister sideways, "...shot them in the legs so they couldn't escape before dousing them in fuel and setting them alight. In the church, they placed an incendiary device beside it and blew them all up, shooting those who tried to escape through the windows. An awful lot of people died, hundreds…" Bucky trails off

Isabel feels quite sick, her face going green. Dugan and the others look solemn.

Bucky looks up from his feet, at the desolated city around them. "Since they locked everyone up in the church here as well, we think they may have been trying to do it again once they'd gotten what they wanted from the people."

"Why would they do that in the first place?" Isabel cries, thoroughly disturbed. "What did these poor people do to deserve this?"

"Nothing, they did nothing," Bucky says quietly, his voice soft to try to calm everyone.

"It's all in retaliation for what the Allies are doing to stop the Axis powers," Falsworth tells her quietly. "Oradour-sun-Glane, that was retaliation for the kidnapping of SS commander Helmut Kämpfe."

"Then what was today for?" Isabel asks quietly.

"Who knows?" Bucky shrugs. "To show they still have power despite how they're being pushed out of France right as we speak? As retaliation for blowing up their weapons factory? Or perhaps they've got a taste for it, as sick as it is."

* * *

Bucky leads the three of them toward the Church in the centre of the village at the end of the main street. It's a small, quaint building, white panelling on the outside and a stunning wooden ceiling and beams on the inside. A large, colourful stain-glass window rises above the altar, which has amazingly managed to escape damage in the bombings, except for a singular hole toward the bottom.

Steve, Dernier, Jones and Morita stand in the street in front of it, the ground around them littered with the bodies of the German soldiers. There's got to be at least one hundred, and another fifteen over where they'd left the truck. A whole squad, if Isabel's knowledge is correct.

All of the Commandos are bathed in blood, dirt and debris with their own share of scrapes and bruises. Steve's holding his upper arm tightly as blood pours out from under his hand, most likely a bullet wound. Isabel goes straight to him, attempting to lift up the sleeve of his suit to get to it.

"It'll be fine," Steve tells her, grabbing her hands to stop her. "It's only a scrape."

Isabel puts her hands on her hips indignantly. "Steve, you have a bullet lodged in your ar–"

"Belle, it can wait. We have to help these people first," Steve says, a little more forceful. Isabel nods in resignation.

Inside the church, they can hear the murmur of terrified French civilians, none of them game enough to peer out of the doors and windows in case they're punished. Steve walks up the stairs and opens the door, peering inside. There's many women, men and children inside, all of them cowering in the corners and huddling together. The children are crying, a baby screaming at the back near the altar. Their cheeks are wet with tears.

"Jones, Dernier," Steve says, and waves the two men up. "I need you to come and reassure the civilians that we aren't a threat. They're safe now."

Jones nods, carefully making his way up the stairs of the church toward Steve, who opens the thick wooden door all the way. As he appears in the doorway and steps inside, Steve behind him, there's an almighty roar of terrified screams from the people inside.

 _"S'il vous plaît, restez calme. Nous sommes des alliés, nous sommes venus pour vous sauver. Les Allemands sont partis, ils ont tous été tués. Tu es en sécurité_ (Please, stay calm. We are Allies, we have come to save you. The Germans are gone, they have all been killed. You are safe)," Jones tells them sympathetically, his arms raised in the universal sign for surrender.

Their eyes all flick from Jones to Steve beside him, a recognisable figure, and then to the men and one woman standing outside the church, surrounded by mutilated bodies. Some of them seem to calm immediately in relief, clutching their little ones just a bit tighter.

One brave man stands from his spot on the floor, facing Jones. " _Qui es-tu?_ (Who are you?)" He asks in a quiet voice, frowning at the American soldier.

" _Nous sommes les Commandos Hurlants. Nous suivons Captain America_ (We are the Howling Commandos. We follow Captain America)," Jones tells them, pointing to Steve in his suit and then to the rest of the Commandos outside.

A few gasps start up in the crowd, all of their eyes widening as they recognise the Captain. Steve stands just a little bit straighter, but offers them a genuine smile, waving shyly to them. A few of the children wave back, their mouths open slightly at they stare up at the tall American soldier.

 _"Avez-vous un médecin?_ (Do you have a medic?)" A middle-aged woman asks, coming closer to Jones hesitantly. She's got a small cut on her forehead, but otherwise she looks unharmed.

" _Oui, nous avons deux_ (Yes, we have two)," Jones tells her immediately, growing worried. " _Des gens ont-ils été blessés?_ (Have people been injured?)"

 _"Oui! Oui!_ (Yes! Yes!)" The woman cries.

"Isabel, Morita, we need you," Jones calls out to them.

Isabel hands Morita his medic pack and the two of them ascend the steps, stepping into the church. The woman who'd spoken to Jones grabs onto Isabel's wrist, perhaps more comfortable confiding in the young woman, dragging her down the aisle between the pews toward the altar.

" _S'il vous plaît, vous devez les aider. ils ont été fusillés!_ (Please, you must help them. They've been shot!)" The woman cries, but Isabel doesn't quite understand every word.

Isabel lets the woman drag her through the church, Morita following closely. They walk through the closed door to the sacristy off to the right of the altar, the small room where the priest and attendants would have prepared for services and stored the vestments and vessels. However, the room's objects have been pushed to the side, the floor used as a makeshift hospital for thirteen men and two women, all of whom are suffering from bullet wounds.

There is a lone man working on helping their injuries, a doctor by the look of him, struggling to juggle the many patients with limited supplies and limited hands. Isabel and Morita immediately drop beside the next waiting patient, deeming which ones need assistance first. They're all in a bad way, most of them with gun wounds to the torso, not a good location due to the presence of all of the organs and the likelihood of internal bleeding from the trauma.

Isabel quickly gets out a syrette of morphine and injects it into the first man she treats, the medication immediately taking away the blinding pain from his wound. She wipes away the blood carefully, revealing two shots to the lower abdomen. The blood continues to spirt out of him, soaking her hands and her uniform quickly. It's hard to see what she's doing as it fills the wound again, and she's continuously wiping it away, making the man wince. Whatever bullets and guns the Germans were using, they're extremely powerful, maybe even moreso than the usual Allied weapon. The bullets are slugs, thick and heavy and fast, lodging painfully in the body. The man's abdominal cavity's been violated, the abdominal wall shot through. With the force, at such a close range by the look of it, there could be any amount of damage to his liver, stomach, intestines, colon, kidneys, bladder, even his spine.

He's lost an awful lot of blood, a large pool of it soaking into the wooden floor. A major blood vessel has likely been severed. Isabel looks up at the patient – he's unconscious, his eyelids fluttering like a drunk's. She hurriedly shines a light in his eyes, but there's barely any pupil response. His heart rate is slow, pulse weak, and he's hardly breathing. On his abdomen, there's an enormous bruise forming against the pale skin. A few seconds later, the man's chest stops moving.

"He's gone," Isabel tells Morita.

"Nothing you could do," Jim reassures.

Isabel moves on to the next patient, the woman with the gunshot wound to the calf. It hurts, it really does, but Morita's right, there was nothing Isabel could do for the other man. She isn't a god or a miracle worker, she doesn't have any magical powers that heal wounds and bring back the dead. She feels a twinge in her heart, the same one she gets every time she ever loses a patient, even if it is beyond her control. She's the one qualified to be able to help them, she's the one with the tools and the knowledge. She knows there's always a limit to everyone's abilities, even those with a super soldier serum, but it never gets any easier.

Isabel swallows down the lump in her throat, ignores the twinging in her heart. She may not have been able to help this man, but there are others that she can fix. _You can do this_ , she tells herself, and she does.

Steve, Bucky, Falsworth and Dugan split into two groups and make their way through the still deserted streets of the small town in search of lone surviving Germans, or any hiding or endangered civilians. If they run into a German, they'll put a bullet through his head before he can say "boo". The civilians, they'll tell them that their safe. If they need help or if they're wounded, they'll get them to the church to assist them. They're hoping for civilians – if the few people in the church are all that's left of the large township, it will be a sad day for all.

Steve takes the lead in front of Bucky, as he always does, shield raised in front of them. They look inside every building and house, whether it's destroyed or not, and don't leave any corner unturned. They stay on the ground floor, not wanting to risk falling through any damaged flooring above, and call up into the higher levels, if there are any, the sentence that Jones told them to say: _"Est-ce que quelqu'un est là-bas? Nous sommes des Alliés. Les allemands sont partis. Yous êtes en sécurité pour sortir de la clandestinité_ (Is anyone up there? We are Allies. The Germans are gone. You are safe to come out of hiding)." Steve repeats it over and over, and they very rarely get a reply.

At one house, a young man opens the front door warily, peering outside. At the sight of Steve in his uniform, he relaxes, and the family behind him cheer for joy that they've been liberated from the enemy's rule.

At the next with a response, an elderly woman opens the door, looking frail. Her eyes light up at the sight of the American soldiers and the absence of gunfire and German yelling outside. She thanks the men in French, though they don't understand much of what she says, and hands them an old baguette for the road. They take it, pick off the mould and share it as they continue walking through the streets. They feel a little bad for not keeping any for the others, but Steve's stomach is growling so loudly Bucky thinks it might start eating himself and they may be the only two who could ingest it without getting sick.

A final house produces a very young woman, maybe twenty if she's lucky, holding in her arms a baby. She herself can't be more than six months old, her baby blue eyes wide beneath a pink lace bonnet. While Bucky coos over the little doll and pinches her cheek in the girls' arms, Steve attempts to communicate and inform the woman she's safe. But then the baby starts to cry, and Steve takes note of the redness around her eyes, as though she'd been crying for days; and perhaps she has. The woman sighs, looks up to the Heavens, and then casts her eye on Steve and Bucky for help. She rubs at her stomach then, in a circular motion.

"She's hungry?" Bucky asks quickly.

The woman nods hurriedly, miming feeding the baby a bottle.

"She needs milk," Bucky tells Steve.

They scour high and low throughout the town and on the outskirts spot a farmhouse, a group of cows sitting in the shade of the barn. They pay off the farmer for a gallon of fresh cow's milk and then pass into the corner general store, stepping through busted open front door and rummaging the shelves in search of baby formula. They miraculously find three small tin cans of formula out in the back stock room and carry it back for the thankful woman. They stay until the woman is settled in the chair with the infant in her arms guzzling frantically at the nib of the bottle.

The town isn't overly big, thankfully, and a whole portion of it has been totally obliterated, the buildings just piles of rubble. They stay away from there. If they were going to find a body, they most certainly wouldn't be a survivor. Their priority for now is helping the survivors. Besides, they've seen enough blood and gore for the day, as selfish as it sounds. Once the Commandos depart, the people of the town will be tasked with recovering the dead. When they make it to the Allied camp, Steve will put in a request for a recovery team, the groups going around to the war-ravaged towns to help them recover and reunite lost family members, helping with evacuation and supplies. The teams are inundated with missions already and the town will have to join a long list.

There are a few small cottage-like homes on the very outskirts of the town, sitting right on the edge of the dense forests. Steve and Bucky approach the houses carefully, noting that the row has been half destroyed, not by the explosions but by secondary debris and fire, the roofs burned. There doesn't seem to be much life from any of them except one. As they get closer, almost on the porch of the cottage, a heavily pregnant woman opens the door to greet them, having watched them approach from the window. She all but waddles out onto the landing, leaning heavily on the banister of the porch.

"If you are here, Captain, I assume the Germans are not," she says in heavily accented English, smiling forcefully at the American soldiers to try to convey her relief. She looks a little flustered, sweat on her forehead, her face distorted into a frown.

"They're all gone, it's safe to come out of hiding," Steve agrees, but he looks worried about the woman. He shares a look with Bucky, who looks equally unsure. "Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need help?" Steve asks, taking a step toward her.

"Actually, help would be appreciated," she admits in a tight voice.

Then, she's bending over and holding the banister of the porch to stay upright, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing through her nose, clearly in immense pain. Her hand goes to her enlarged stomach, clutching it tightly. Steve hurries up to her, putting a hand on her back in an attempt to comfort her. Bucky knows what this is, he's seen it before with his own mother when she was pregnant with the twins. He was old enough, at thirteen, that he remembers it clearly - his mother washing dishes in the sink in the kitchen when she'd suddenly doubled over in pain, dropping the plate which shattered all over the floor, and twenty hours later in the hospital little Robbie and Becca had been born, and Bucky had got to hold Becca first, a little bundle of joy wrapped up in his arms–

After a minute, the French woman stands again, her face red from the exertion. "I'm in labour," she grits out, confirming Bucky's immediate suspicion.

Steve's eyes widen comically and he stands up a little straighter, losing his relaxed posture straight away. "We'll get you to the church. That's where the medics are," Steve immediately offers, preparing to help her down the porch, carry her if she wants him to.

"No, I can't, not that far," she pants. "I can't. I-it's been too long. I'm too close. And m-my child…"

Steve and Bucky shared a wide-eyed look. Bucky isn't entirely sure if she's talking about the baby or another child inside the house, but he isn't about to hang around and find out, knowing the woman needs medical attention straight away if they want any chance of the delivery going off without any trouble.

"I'll go get them," Bucky says with a nod, running off back to the church to bring back either Isabel or Jim, leaving a flustered-looking Steve to get the woman back inside.

Bucky hurries through the crowd leaving the church to disperse back to their homes, swivelling through them. They look at him as he passes, recognise him and smile at him, moving aside for him. Perhaps his flustered and worried expression gives away the sense of haste. Bucky hurries up the stairs into the church and runs between the pews, bursting into the sacristy. Everyone inside looks up as he enters like a hurricane. Morita's treating a man's bullet wound to the shoulder, his hands covered in blood, the patient looking as though he's about to lose consciousness, another wound to his abdomen bleeding steadily through the bandages.

"I need one of you to come with me," Bucky says through his shallow breathing, looking at Isabel and Morita. "There's a pregnant woman in her house on the outskirts of town. She's having her baby."

"I can't come, Serge, I'm losing this guy," Morita says, panicked, attempting to stem the blood flow of the man's shoulder as he tries to tend to the abdominal wound as well, the ultimate juggling act.

The French doctor doesn't speak English enough for Bucky to ask him, so Bucky turns to Isabel, who's busy with one of the women, treating the gunshot wound to her calf. She's nearly done by the looks of it, wrapping it with gauze.

"Isabel come on, you're up," Bucky tells her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet, not even letting her tie off the bandage. "We can't move her, you have to go to her."

Isabel looks terrified, her eyes wide. "I can't deliver a baby, Buck. I'm not a midwife, I've never done that before!"

"What, and you think Steve and I have?" Bucky asks, clearly frazzled. "I left Steve there alone with her. Poor guy's having a fit as we speak."

"You can do this, Isabel," Morita says from the floor, not taking his eyes off his patient.

"You went to nurse's college and they taught you this stuff in theory, even if you've never done it. That woman, she needs you to help her. You're the most qualified here to do this, and you know you can," Bucky continues, shaking Isabel's shoulder slightly to emphasise his point. " _I_ know you can."

Isabel looks at Morita and then Bucky a moment before nodding. Her eyes get a little more determined, her brow furrowing. "Lead the way," she tells Bucky, collecting up her medical gear and following him from the church.

They run back through the town, which is significantly more bustling than before as the citizens file back out to their homes. They reach the forest on the outskirts, not far from the winding river.

Bucky enters the house without knocking, listening for noises. He spots Steve in the back bedroom, leaning over the bed beside the woman. Isabel hurries into the room behind Bucky. Steve's clearly gotten the woman to lie down on her bed out of the heat, kneeling beside her. She's got his hand in a death grip, breathing loudly as she gets through another contraction. Steve looks extremely uncomfortable, his eyes wide and darting around as though he doesn't know what to do.

When he spots Isabel, he looks immensely relieved. "Oh, thank God," he breathes. "This is the medic," he tells the woman, pointing to Isabel with his free hand. The woman's eyes light up in recognition and relief.

"She's never delivered a baby before, Steve," Bucky tells Steve quietly, warning him.

"That's comforting," Steve says, shaking his head in worry.

Isabel comes to sit beside the woman, putting down her medical kit, seeming extremely calm although on the inside she could be screaming. She knows how scared the woman must be, how terrified the last few weeks have probably been. She's about to go through one of the hardest, most terrifying but most rewarding experiences of her life, so the least Isabel, Steve and Bucky can do is help her and stay calm for her.

"She speaks English?" Isabel asks Steve, noting how Steve had spoken to her earlier.

"Very well," Steve agrees.

"What's your name, honey?" Isabel asks, smiling softly at the woman.

"Adele," the woman says, her forehead slick with sweat.

"Alright, Adele. My name is Isabel. We're gonna be just fine. We're going to get through this together, okay?" She tells the woman, who nods firmly. "Bucky, I need you to find some sheets or towels, a lot of them. And wet a flannel soaked in cold water if you can."

Bucky nods and hurries off into the house, searching through all of the cupboards. He pauses when he notices a small child sitting on the sofa; he hadn't seen the boy before when they'd come in. Now, Adele's previous comment about not being able to leave the house because of her child makes sense. He can't be more than three, Bucky guesses. Bucky doesn't stop to talk, even though the little boy looks at him curiously. He bustles back into the room with his arms laden with towels. Isabel takes them from him and starts laying a few on the bed underneath the woman, Steve and Bucky's eyes widening even further.

"You're going to deliver it right here?" Steve asks in astonishment, looking very pale.

"Where else am I going to? It's not like we have a choice," Isabel tells him. "I think she's close, really close. This is the most comfortable place she could be."

Bucky goes to the kitchen with a cloth and runs it under cold water, ringing it out. He comes back and approaches Adele, a little hesitantly since he isn't sure how the woman will react to strange men being near her. She doesn't seem to mind, smiling at Bucky with a kind eye despite the pain.

"Where is your husband?" Bucky asks the woman, pushing the sweaty hair from her forehead before lying the cold cloth over the beaded skin.

"Now's not the time to chat her up, Buck," Isabel says with a smile, positioning herself at the unspeakable end of the woman. The men stay up near her head, looking away.

"He is fighting, to answer your question," the woman says with an amused smile.

"Where was he last?" Isabel asks her, trying to keep Adele's mind off the pain and off the things she's doing down below to prepare her for the birth and try to work out what exactly is going on. She does exactly as she remembers reading in her textbooks. She says a little prayer in her mind that there aren't any complications and that it's a smooth delivery. She hasn't the tools, experience, or the knowledge to do anything else other than that because the textbook only allowed for smooth deliveries. She can't perform a cesarean surgery or fix anything if it goes horribly wrong. She doesn't want to be the cause of the baby, or Adele, not getting through this. "Where is he fighting?"

"Last I heard from him was three months ago. He was passing through Paris, I believe," Adele pants. "He is a part of the French Resistance. He hasn't done much fighting, mainly just helping the French citizens to clean up after they have been liberated."

Another contraction washes over the woman and she screams out in pain this time, clutching her stomach and gritting her teeth. It takes a long while for it to pass, and another comes straight after, the contractions only seconds apart. Bucky sees a look of panic wash over Isabel's face as she realises how close Adele is, before Isabel quickly schools her expression. What she can't hide, though, is how pale her face goes, all colour draining from her cheeks.

They hear the door open, and the little boy Bucky had seen before pokes his head around, looking up at his mother with curious but frightened eyes, her scream having had attracted his attention. He loiters in the doorway, lips parted in concentration and fear. Bucky spots him and waves at him. The boy waves back shyly, not coming any closer.

"Adam, please, go back into the living room. Leave these nice people be," Adele pants to him, looking at her son and his frightened expression.

"He's okay," Bucky promises. He reaches out a hand to the boy and the boy takes it, letting Bucky pull him up into his lap. Bucky holds him tight, right up next to his mom, letting him talk to her.

" _Maman, vas-tu aller bien?_ (Mommy, are you going to be okay?)" The child asks her, his dark eyes welling with tears when she screeches in pain again.

 _"Oui, mon amour. Je te fais un frère, tu te souviens?_ (Yes, my love. I am making you a brother, remember?)"

Adam nods, reaching forward and taking his mother's hand.

"She's fully dialated," Isabel says to herself more than anyone else. "Okay, I think this is about the time you start pushing," Isabel tells the woman, looking up at her both with fear and determination. "You've done this before, I assume, so you know how it goes. When I tell you, you push as hard as you can, okay?"

Adele nods, looking determined but exhausted. Adam begins to cry loudly at the sight of his mother in pain, so Bucky picks him up and takes him out of the room again. Bucky can tell Steve desperately wants to follow, looking extremely uncomfortable and giving Bucky pleading eyes. Bucky would swap and let Steve go with Adam if he could, but Adele has Steve's hand in a death grip and she isn't letting go any time soon.

"Now," Bucky hears Isabel say once Adam is clear of the room. There's a moment of silence, just a loud grunting noise, and then Isabel says, "No, no, don't hold your breath, honey. You're not going to be able to push if you hold it." Following is an ear-piercing scream.

Bucky feels a little bit faint. No doubt, Steve is the same. Bucky actually waits for a second to hear the thud of Steve dropping to the floor, but it doesn't come. He peeks back into the room and Steve looks extremely pale, his cheeks tinged green, his blue eyes wide, but he's awake and alert and awkwardly telling Adele to keep breathing.

Bucky sits down on the sofa with Adam, the boy on his lap and clutching to his jacket tightly, his face buried in Bucky's neck. Bucky reaches into the pocket of his jacket and feels around for the chocolate bar he'd been saving as celebration for when they got back to the Allied camp. He holds it out to Adam, who looks up and takes it carefully, his tear-streaked cheeks making his skin shiny in the warm light of the room. Adam looks at the package and turns it over in his hands, a frown on his tiny face.

Bucky watches for a second before he takes the chocolate bar back from the boy, peeling back the wrapper before handing it back again. He watches with a curious smile as the boy takes an experimental bite. He chews for a second, frowns, and then his face lights up in a bright smile, chewing happily and grinning toothily at Bucky.

"You've never had chocolate before?" Bucky asks the boy, who looks amazed by the bar in his hands. He mimes it then, for the boy's sake. Adam shakes his head no. "I guess you would have been born during the war. A little hard to get rations, right?" Bucky's face drops a little at that thought, of a child knowing nothing but a life of war. His eyes flick to the bedroom door and another child coming into the world, drenched in the war from the day of its birth.

 _"One more push, Adele. One more,"_ Isabel's saying, followed by a loud cry of pain and then the ear-piercing scream of a baby's cry. Bucky would recognise that sound anywhere, even if he's never been present at a birth.

Bucky smiles down at Adam as the boy looks up in surprise toward the door at the baby's scream, the chocolate only momentarily forgotten before he goes back to eating it, a small smile on his face. Bucky finds himself looking at the child in a way he didn't expect he would, his eyes soft and a little sad, like he's reminiscing. The boy's dark hair and dark eyes, pale skin, toothy grin; it all reminds him of someone he misses terribly and didn't realise until now.

"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Bucky asks the boy, who nods at him again. He's quiet too, just like Robbie. "You remind me of my little brother, you know? He's a little older than you, but you're much the same the two of you," Bucky tells him.

Adam looks up at him, a little confused. He probably doesn't know that much English. "Thank you," he manages, waving the candy bar.

"You're welcome, pal," Bucky says, before licking his thumb and wiping off a blob of chocolate at the side of the boy's mouth.

Bucky shifts Adam off his lap and stands up again. Adam lifts both arms, making grabby hands at Bucky to be picked up. Bucky obliges, hoisting Adam onto his hip to take him with him.

"You wanna go see your new baby sibling. Mama said it was a brother, yeah?"

Adam only nods again. Bucky walks him back into the room slowly. Adam's eyes swivel immediately to his mother, half-eaten bar of chocolate nearly slipping from his hand, forgotten.

Adele is lying on the bed, looking like she's in significantly less pain than before, a hand covering her eyes and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Isabel's still kneeling at the end of the bed, and in her arms is a tiny little baby. She's wiping the blood from the baby's face with a spare towel and drying the small tuft of black hair on its head, wrapping the infant in another to swaddle it before she hands the baby to Adele, something Bucky knows the nurses in the hospital do so that the baby is cleaner when the parents first see it.

But what stumps Bucky is that Isabel's got this look on her face, of love and warmth and admiration, a true motherly expression that only comes with maturity. It's a look Bucky has never seen on Isabel's face when she looked at a child, not even when she held Robbie or Becca, and apparently Steve hasn't seen it either going by the lovesick smile on his face, his eyes soft and warm. Bucky knows those expressions, has seen it on the face of nearly every woman when they see or hold a baby and on the face of his own father when his siblings had been born. Bucky looks between his sister and Steve with a knowing smile, earning a look from Steve and no response from Isabel who's rather preoccupied. Bucky says nothing and instead sets Adam down on the bed, chocolate bar still in hand.

Isabel stands carefully and brings the baby up to Adele, placing it on her chest against her skin. "Whoever told you the baby would be a boy was wrong. It's a girl," she tells Adele.

Adele's eyebrows rise in surprise and she clutches the baby tight, laughing down at the baby and touching her tiny nose, running a finger gently over the baby's tiny lips. "It is a wives tale, I guess, based on the way you carry. My mother told me about it when I had Adam, and it was correct then. I was carrying low, she was supposed to be a boy," Adele explains through her still shallow breath.

"What are you going to name her?" Bucky asks quietly, watching the new mother hold her child.

"All the names we had picked were for a boy," Adele laughs again. She takes a moment to think before looking up and making eye contact with Isabel, smiling gratefully at her. "I think I shall name her Isabelle, if you don't mind. It means 'pledged to God', for the woman who gave her to me, safe and healthy," she decides with conviction.

It takes a moment for that to click for Isabel, that the baby is being named for her, before she breaks down into tears, taking the woman's offered hand and kneeling beside the bed.

"T-thank you," Isabel stammers, clutching her hand. It takes her a few moments to collect herself from the utter shock and honour, before she looks at the baby in Adele's arms, smiling down at her brightly. " _Belle petite Isabelle, tu es si chanceuse,_ (Beautiful little Isabelle, you are so lucky)," Isabel tells the newborn, petting her head of dark hair on top of her head. The baby stares at her, baby blue eyes bright and alert, reaching a hand up from her blankets that Isabel takes, letting the baby wrap her hand around her finger.

Steve and Bucky watch for a while with a smile as the two women coo over the baby before the two men go out to the kitchen and take a seat at the table. They sit in a comfortable silence, just looking around or at their hands, letting the events of the day wash over them. They can hear the nature outside, the sound of voices as people file slowly back to their houses, and the soft voices of Isabel and Adele speaking.

"How will you do it?" Isabel asks quietly, one hand slowly trailing over baby Isabelle's small hand. There's worry in her voice and she doesn't try to hide it. She is worried for Adele and Adam and Isabelle, leaving them here alone. "Here alone in a war with the two babies. How _have_ you done it?"

Adele sighs quietly and shifts the baby to free one arm before she takes Isabel's hand in her own. There's a maturity to her, and suddenly she looks much older, when she says, "One day, you will have children of your own. And you will love them more than anything, like I love mine. You'll realise then that no conditions are good enough for you to raise your children, that no life will ever be perfect enough for them. There's always something you wish was better or safer. But you'll love them enough that you'll work to make the best with what you've got to keep them safe and happy."

"As long as they're with you," Isabel mutters, nodding in understanding.

"Exactly. As long as a family is together, they'll be okay. The love for my children will be enough that nothing else will matter." She squeezes Isabel's hand in reassurance. "You needn't worry about us. The war will end in good time and everything will be okay again."

* * *

Eventually, Isabel backs away to give them some alone time, the tears dried but her eyes red. She shuts the door behind her, giving Adele, Adam and baby Isabelle some time alone to get to know one another. In the kitchen, Steve and Bucky are still sitting in relative silence, just enjoying the time to sit and be still. Bucky has a cigarette in his hand, lips puckered around it taking a drag, and he blows out a long wind of smoke. Steve's found a pad of paper and a pencil in the kitchen and he's sketching the baby to leave as a gift for Adele.

Isabel goes to the kitchen sink and starts to wash the blood from her hands, looking a little emotional. Bucky and Steve look up as she enters. Their eyes trail her as she eventually takes a seat, looking at the both of them in return. Steve sits a little heavier than Bucky, his brows furrowed. Its then that Isabel remembers the bullet lodged in his arm that must be giving him some pain as the wound attempts to heal itself around it. He hadn't bothered Isabel with it before so that she could concentrate on the others, but now he wishes it were gone. He notices Isabel's eyes flick to the wound and to the blood stain that has formed on the arm of his navy sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot!" Isabel cries, jumping up to grab her medical kit. "I'll get it out now."

Isabel comes back with the kit and sets up her equipment, attempting to roll up Steve's sleeve without paining the wound.

"Should've said somethin', punk," Bucky mutters around his cigarette.

"S'fine," Steve reassures. "Drawing was keeping my mind off it once the adrenaline wore off."

In the kitchen of the cottage, sat at the chairs, Isabel works to remove the bullet from Steve's arm where it's embedded in the thick muscle. It takes her a long while since the bullet has fragmented inside and moved around, causing extra damage to the muscle that might have been avoided had she been able to remove it right away.

"Gotta say," Bucky mutters, running a hand over his hair. "When I went to war, I never thought I'd end up delivering a baby."

Bucky hands his cigarette to Steve who takes a puff to distract himself from Isabel pulling and pinching and plucking at his arm. "Neither did I," Steve says in agreement, still looking pretty flustered with residual red cheeks.

"You didn't even do anything, Bucky," Isabel tells him with a playful frown. She makes a grabby hand for the cigarette and takes a breath as well, hoping to nicotine will be a distraction for her as well from the thoughts that are still pressing on her mind.

"Hey, I babysat Adam," Bucky argues as he takes the stick back from Isabel.

Isabel mock glares, and she tries to smile but it doesn't reach her darkened eyes. "But you're right, I didn't expect it either," she concedes.

"You did good," Steve tells Isabel sincerely, his eyes soft.

Isabel shrugs. "I don't deserve the credit; it was all Adele. I just caught the little one," Isabel says.

Isabel finally manages to get the bullet and its fragments out thanks to Steve's body pushing it all out toward her. She wipes away the blood and holds a rag to his arm to apply pressure until the bleeding slows of its own accord. Then, she stitches it up, wrapping a bandage around his arm.

When she's finished, Isabel stands and takes the equipment to the sink, washing away the blood, dumping the stained cloths, and soaping up her hands again. She turns off the tap and then stands there for a moment, both hands gripping the edge of the cupboard, and stares out the small kitchen window to the forest behind the house. As Steve struggles to tug the tight sleeve of his uniform down again, he watches Isabel as she runs a hand through her frazzled hair.

"You okay, Belle?" Steve asks quietly, that frown on his face. In the reflection on the window, he can see she's got an expression that Steve can't place and there's a tight tension to her shoulders.

"Yeah, sorry," Isabel says quickly, and, still facing away from them, she wipes away at the tears that have suddenly threatened to spill over. "I'm fine. I was thinking… It just…" She turns around to face them, leaning back against the cupboard. "It felt _so_ _good_ to use my skills for something other than fixing up a bullet wound or a landmine accident, some terrible thing someone's done to someone else. It felt good to be a part of something so… beautiful. I miss that, treating people who aren't bleeding out under my hands."

"I know what you mean, Belle. All we ever see is misery and torment and struggle," Steve says. He gets up from the seat and steps over to her, leaning on the cupboard beside her. He takes her hand and squeezes it sympathetically. "But it isn't the only thing left in the world. There's still good. I know it doesn't always feel that way, not when we're out here doing what we do, but there is still something worthwhile left for us to find."

"Yeah, there is. Kind of forgot, to be honest," Isabel says, smiling at Steve despite her tears. "Instead of trying to stop a life leaving the world, I was bringing one in. It felt good. It reminded me of what we're missing out on being here, but also what we're fighting to keep safe."

"That's right," Steve says, pulling Isabel into a hug, tucking her into his side. "This is why we fight, and its why you nurse. For the good of the world."

Isabel nods her head, pulling away and smiling brightly at Steve. Steve wipes away a tear for her.

Once Adele is stable and Isabel is sure she'll be okay, the Commandos leave her be with her newborn baby, saying their goodbyes to the sleeping newborn. They'll never see any of them again, despite the bonds they've established by such an intimate act, and its almost makes Isabel tear up again.

"What is your husband's name?" Isabel asks suddenly, turning back to the woman standing on the porch as they're walking away.

"Pierre Bisset," Adele answers.

"If we happen to run into him before you do, we'll give him the good news," Isabel promises.

"I doubt you will, my love, but I thank you," Adele says with a soft smile. "Be safe."

With a final wave, Isabel walks off between her two boys down the path back to town. They reach the denser buildings and onto the cobblestone streets, making their way through the town toward the church where the rest of the Commandos are still waiting for them, Isabel's hand clutched tightly in Steve's.

With the town's mayor deceased, the doctor is taking up a temporary position as leader. On behalf of the city, he thanks them all profusely for their help, saying he would be able to care for those who survived from then on. Jones translates Steve's message about Adele, asking for him to check on her in a few hours, and he promises that he will. Steve also informs the doctor of where there are more deceased persons that they'd stumbled across in their search, and the doctor writes it all down, preparing to send a search party through the town once everyone is of able body and mind. Steve also informs the doctor that he'll send word for a clean up crew as soon as possible.

"You lose any of them?" Isabel asks Morita quietly, noticing the solemn expression on the man's face.

"Yeah, the one I was working on when you left, he didn't make it either. We lost eight of the fifteen," Morita tells her sadly.

"Sorry I couldn't stay to help," Isabel mumbles, the guilt starting to eat at her.

But Morita just shrugs, silently saying that that's the way it goes. "How's the new babe?"

"Beautiful and healthy," Isabel says with a content smile. "And named for me."

"Really?" Morita asks brightly. He claps Isabel's back. "Congratulations. I'm proud of ya."

After that, the Commandos move back to their borrowed Hydra vehicle, and after filling it with fuel from the gas station and leaving double what the fuel would have been worth, they're ready to finish the drive to their rendezvous point in Lyon. It's been a long day, full of fighting against the Germans and fighting for the lives the Axis powers threatened to take. They're all utterly exhausted and a little disturbed, but that's understandable.

No one speaks as Dugan starts the truck up and drives them out of the desolated town, the French civilians waving to them as they leave the city limits and turn onto the main roads once again.

Isabel sits in the back this time, quietly looking down at her hands, a little bit of blood still lodged under her fingernails. She takes a deep breath, reassures Steve again that she's fine when he asks. Falsworth gives her a look because he knows what she did today in that burnt out pub. He raises his eyebrow questioningly and she shrugs at him, forcing a smile. She doesn't know if he buys it, and she doesn't stay awake to find out. She almost immediately falls asleep leaning against Steve's shoulder, who himself falls asleep against the wall of the truck, ignoring the rocking of the vehicle as they speed through the French countryside.

As one life left the world at her hands, another entered. Isabel falls asleep wondering if that was a coincidence or not.

* * *

 **A/N:** I feel like this chapter started as usual, lots of fighting and guns blazing, and then it seemed to take a sudden turn. I never planned to have the delivery in this story at all, but it actually came to me in a dream. I've been debating whether or not to keep it, whether or not to delete it, but I decided to add it and I'll tell you why if you didn't figure it out from the chapter. Isabel's seen a lot, she's experienced a lot of events where she's had to use her medical skills for things that are less than savoury. But as she says, delivering a baby is one of the most amazing experiences anyone can imagine, bringing new life into the world. This chapter is a big character development for Isabel - as she says, she's grown so used to the war and the gruesome, violent acts that constitute it, she's forgotten that there's good in the world too, and that shows she's losing herself, because if you think back to when she was in Brooklyn, she always managed to see the good. I feel like this chapter needed to happen for Isabel to be able to move forward with everything that's going on around her, for her to be able to make it to the end of this with her head still screwed on. Otherwise, with everything that happens in a war, by the end she won't see the good in anything anymore, and Isabel is not a pessimistic or negative character.

Bucky, as well, has a bit of an eye-opening experience with little Adam. The young boy shows Bucky that he misses his family, as much as he doesn't quite think about them all of the time. Bucky's been very preoccupied with protecting the family he has with him (Isabel and Steve) and the new family he's found for himself, and sometimes he forgets just how much he misses and needs the rest of his family. I feel like there was quite a lot going on in here that's a bit underlying, but that may just be me reading too much into what I put to paper. Who knows?

Just some history for you: The events in this chapter are based on the true experiences during World War II. Between the time of the German victory in the Battle of France (starting 10th May 1940) and the liberation of the country, the Western Allies bombed many locations in France hoping to drive the Axis forces from the country. Altogether, 1,570 French cities and towns were bombed by Anglo-American forces between June 1940 and May 1945. Unfortunately, this saw a massive number of French civilian deaths, approximately 68,778 men, women and children in total, with over 100,000 injured. The total number of houses completely destroyed by the bombings was 432,000, with 890,000 partially damaged. Avignon was bombed on May 27, 1944, with 525 dead. While the Commandos get there sometime in July, they see the after effects of such an event and of the Nazi occupation, and in no way would the town have even begun to recover after such little time.

There was a massacre in Oradour-sur-Glane on June 10, 1944. The villagers were ordered to assemble in the square and have their identity papers examined. The women and children were locked in the church, the village looted, the men killed in the barns, and then the women and children killed in the church just as Bucky describes. All together there were over 190 Frenchman, 247 women and 205 children killed in the brutal attack. There were less than thirty survivors who were left to bury the 642 dead. The atrocity was revealed to be a retaliation for the partisan activity in Tulle and the kidnapping of SS commander Helmut Kämpfe. However, as much as this did happen, just a disclaimer that the events depicted in this chapter of what Bucky assumes "almost" happened at Avignon, of the almost-massacre, are fictionalised. The town of Avignon _was_ bombed beyond repair, but no such further events occurred to my knowledge, and I have researched it. The Germans, to my knowledge, did not loot the town or prepare to assassinate the townspeople. That is not a plot point but only implied, as it would have been a thought running through their minds in light of Oradour-sur-Glane. I just thought I'd make that clear since a lot of this story had stayed close to historical fact, despite the fact it's a superhero fanfiction.


End file.
